cum trees & horseshoes

lots of people like to play horseshoes & some people like to smell cum. some people keep cum stained underwears under their pillows & some people rub the cumstain on a breathing-mask & breathe that shit in deepdeepdeep like motherfucking dennis hopper in blue velvet...

i'm not here to be dennis hopper or isabella rossellini... i'm not here to talk about the evils of nitrous oxide or murder or cum or horseshoes. i'm not here to talk about the masks people wear willingly & the masks people wear willingly & hide...

i have a new understanding of mens, tho...

my new understanding started & stopped with my trucker.

my trucker hasn't been picked up for contraband or some shit.

my trucker got on his cb & broadcast shit about natalie portman or about ballerinas or about swans & their mating habits that didn't mean much to me...

as for the cumtree  & for the horseshoes:

there was a tree that smelled like sperm. & many of the women who came upon this tree said, wow, this smells like sperm. & many of the men who came upon this tree said, wow, this smells like sperm. but, some of the men  who came upon this tree did not like the smell of sperm; but, some of the women who came upon this tree did not like the smell of sperm.

& we won't talk about freud & traumas & repression for the mens who don't like the smell of their own sperm...

& we won't talk about what happened to that poor little cumtree in a society that doesn't value open, honest sexuality...

i'm in a place where i'd never thought i'd be. i'm in a place where i write non-apologetically. i write more here then i'd ever thought.i write & i think about writing. i write & i know others wonder about the purpose of writing. i write & those deep thoughts are written by others. i write & i know why i write & i will tell some one some day but there is no tautology going on & there is no teleology going on here, assholes. i write & i miss you & you will never know who you are & you could be anyone - the punker with the three-legged cat, the boy who never sent me that cd, the Russian who gave me whiskey on my bday, the Turk who wanted me to be his valentine, the ex-marine -  i'll never tell you cos that's what writers do. they cover all their shit up.

& i was gonna cut & paste my yearly love horoscope here, but i think i'll just get high on nitrous oxide instead...

yours getting higher,
ryder