written by owen

When I woke up this morning I wondered if I wanna be starting something. Or if I got to be starting something. I may be too high to get over or stuck in the middle. It seems as if you actually can't live forever, no matter how famous you are. The liberian girl will always come back for her books. I mean, what if you stare at the man in the mirror and realise that he is a Dirty Diana or a stranger in Mosco? What if you don't know who you are? What if you can dance or shake your body down to the ground? No one wants to be defeated.

I don't know, fine, you win but that movie was a awful souless piece of masterbatory garbage. It is really a rare treat, vapid, jejunity. Some wonderful in us died last week when that movie came out. We will never be the same. The only life worth living is a life lived for others.

We are all victims of our desires. I am 65 days behind on my Dilbert comic strips. Everything is amazing yet no body is happy and it is impossible to keep track of it all. The internet is just full of stuff. Pornographic memory can only get you so far. But all I have to say is if ANYMORE one of mothers and fathers just wake up and decide for some random-hippy reason that your going to leave the internet - I'M NOT GOING TO THINK ITS FUNNY!

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