Okay, This Time For Real - !
It's a bit like the conundrum Bill Murray faced in the film, "Groundhog Day" - I keep meaning to move forward with big plans that include a livestreamed XXX cam show here on Xhamster - but there never seems to be a moment when Fate doesn't already have another curve ball (or twelve) already lined up to give me no shortage whatsoever where infuriatingly dull, time-wasting longeurs are concerned.
Just now, in fact - after writing not so much as a complete paragraph, I found myself being interrupted for a protracted period of time. Long enough a time that I even considered putting this down and trying again later. And that, I'm afraid, is the problem I face: I'm just too easily dispirited, especially when trying out new ideas that can just as easily prove a long-term liability as a short-term asset.
Maybe it's this pervasive doom and gloom that insists upon settling upon anything - everything - that can be settled upon (like a cloud of artificially-intelligent dust particles who aren't content merely to passively descend through the air to eventually come to rest. Heck no, this stuff takes it upon itself to mount expeditions LOOKING for things to settle upon. Looking for trouble.
Like a snarl-lipped mugger of peoples' joy, spying a cozy tableau of an ice cream truck doing brisk business by a park bathed in the warmth of an afternoon sun. Left to the tender mercies of our heartless thug this scene shifts and seethes and Cronenbergs itself into a Polaroid photo; a dystopian landscape wherein a onetime ice cream truck serves to provide another few feet of space for a meth lab, adjacent to an abandoned shopping mall out on the edges of town.
Damnit, we're already one-fifth of the way into the 21st century. When the Hell do finally get to kick out the motherfucking jams and have ourselves an awesome time because we're, you know, living in the future and everything? When did we all apparently reach a consensus about covering ourselves - our homes, our partners - friends neighbours co-workers pets - our c***dren - covering them all with roll after roll of protective bubble wrap? Does anyone else feel as I do, an increasingly-estranged stranger in a strange land that strangely enough has made mankind's tallest 21st century mountains from the carcasses of the 20th century's least-interesting, milquetoast molehills?
Just now, in fact - after writing not so much as a complete paragraph, I found myself being interrupted for a protracted period of time. Long enough a time that I even considered putting this down and trying again later. And that, I'm afraid, is the problem I face: I'm just too easily dispirited, especially when trying out new ideas that can just as easily prove a long-term liability as a short-term asset.
Maybe it's this pervasive doom and gloom that insists upon settling upon anything - everything - that can be settled upon (like a cloud of artificially-intelligent dust particles who aren't content merely to passively descend through the air to eventually come to rest. Heck no, this stuff takes it upon itself to mount expeditions LOOKING for things to settle upon. Looking for trouble.
Like a snarl-lipped mugger of peoples' joy, spying a cozy tableau of an ice cream truck doing brisk business by a park bathed in the warmth of an afternoon sun. Left to the tender mercies of our heartless thug this scene shifts and seethes and Cronenbergs itself into a Polaroid photo; a dystopian landscape wherein a onetime ice cream truck serves to provide another few feet of space for a meth lab, adjacent to an abandoned shopping mall out on the edges of town.
Damnit, we're already one-fifth of the way into the 21st century. When the Hell do finally get to kick out the motherfucking jams and have ourselves an awesome time because we're, you know, living in the future and everything? When did we all apparently reach a consensus about covering ourselves - our homes, our partners - friends neighbours co-workers pets - our c***dren - covering them all with roll after roll of protective bubble wrap? Does anyone else feel as I do, an increasingly-estranged stranger in a strange land that strangely enough has made mankind's tallest 21st century mountains from the carcasses of the 20th century's least-interesting, milquetoast molehills?
4 lata/lat temu