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i'm tired of meeting people... in x-ray fashion,
seeing their intentions, their motives,
their devices... as well as a series of
complex methods of arriving at point C from
point A... and i just shudder at the
thought that i cannot stop it. i cannot
stop the mathematical standards....
call me.... call me....
and so you do...
"hi"
... hey ...
*sigh*
how about this... how about you just call
me 'fuckin bitch'... because that's how
you will end up knowing me in the end?
seems reasonable.... saves time...
no cause for social formalities, just go
ahead and get to the point...
flatter me, make me laugh, flatter me some
more, make me like you, then exploit me...
continue lying to me as you throw down $50
for a round of drinks all night... point
and talk about all the other losers in the
club that, let's face it, aren't any different
than you... and convince me that you are
worth breathing to...
i love your $2 lies... they escape on wings
of birds and make me feel somewhat pretty...
all the while i'm aware of the fact that
had it not been me, it would definitely
be someone else for sure. the power of
good timing....
ask me to accompany you to dance when you
know that i do not want to... then humiliate
me in front of your friends in some cunning
plan to seduce me to your whim... when i
really have no intention of giving you what
you think you will get.
keep telling yourself how remarkable you must
be because you are cool and tough and your
friends are here from up-state and you want
to indulge them... fuck you... fuck that...
but i do it anyway... because i no longer
care... about my tight-assed standards
or your terrible clothing... or how you
have no idea what you have sitting next to
you... watching you make a fucking fool out
of yourself... laughing inside of me because
you think you are so clever... when i can't
even find the decency to care about your
fucking name.
...but its on the tip of my tongue
lie to me some more while i'm behaving the
spectacle because your friends aren't watching
me, but watching you play with me... and you
are overly tall and sweaty and can't fucking
dance and i hate that fucking shirt....
ask me simple, cliche questions and fill
the remaining 2.39 minutes of this song
with reasons why you've never met someone
like me...
and i just want to beat you right here, right now...
because you symbolize everything i've come
to despise... but have no power to change.
play the game... play the game...
oh god how i hate this shit... i have always hated it
... inside a demon breathes...
but i'm still too emotionally spent, causing
me to be too fucking pussy to find my role...
and instead, i take the one you give me.
and i ask myself, in the last 1.12 minutes
of this song why i'm even here and why i'm
trying to escape the reality that i lead
a cookie-cutter life... ebbing and flowing
into more and more bullshit... and how
badly i just want dignity and something not
like this...
...placid
oh wait... time's up... let's cut back over
to your upper state henchmen in bad jeans
and plastered emblems and talk about how
cool and tough you are while i roll my eyes
and have another drink because god, i need
one... because i'm insane and life is
meaningless...
and i hear a low hum ringing through myself,
your vacant and hollow doll, searching for
purpose and utility in a world of cocksuckers
and thieves. throw me another clever line
and pet me some because i'm cute and prefer
to be treated as a domestic animal and because
you are so fucking arrogant to think that
i'm having a good time seated at a round
full of obnoxious morons that find it
humorous to beat on the table and yell
ridiculous inside jokes. 8th grade revisited.
so i excuse myself from your gracious
company to <s>escape</s> retire to the
bathroom because i need air and i'm too
clever to go outside out of fear you may
follow... and inside the bathroom i'm
surrounded by sinks and mirrors and a
thousand dim-witted females that think its
cute to be stupid and i run the water and
put some on the back of my neck and think
to myself how reduced i have become...
but surrender to it... because i do not
contain the power to change it.
and i catch myself keeping track of the
time because i do not want to be gone too
long and blow my miserable cover... because
after all, we are exploiting each other
and i need you to help me forget... and so
i grab a dry towel and snap myself out of
reprieve and come back to this god-forsaken
island of shit and real.
...*sigh*
and i blend in so naturally within the crowd
of other losers and dim-lighting because
i'm short and forgettable... and you conquer
me with artificial sentiments of lamentations
and inside i cringe but smile just the same
because you are the epitome of all that i
have come to abhor but have no power to
elevate to a standard above the grime.
but eventually we leave (which is rather
early but suitable, considering... ) and you
take me by your house because you want to
make sure you were smart enough to leave
the porch light on for all the neighborhood
insects to find their way, en masse, to
your door upon your faithful return... and
i realize that this was no sudden incident
but a carefully concocted scheme...
... and i just want to go home
free me from this state of suspended time
and superficial charade but please, keep
lying to me because you know how to push
my buttons and you want to make sure that
this is oh-so-memorable with you in your
dry shirt and overworked knees and because
i prefer to live in a state of consistant
delusion and hollywood.
welcome me home to the barage of thought
between then and now and the combination
of emotional drainage and super-fluff.
i suspect you will call tomorrow and i will
decline your offer as per feminine law...
but act over-joyed that you ask me again
in just a few days.... and how much i hate you...
yeah... call me....
for i am the cursed...
the bitch...
the pretty...
the convenient...
the humiliated...
the spectacle...
the demon...
the pussy...
the insane...
the meaningless...
the doll...
the animal...
the surrounded...
the reduced...
the short...
the forgettable...
the suspended...
... i am the wunderlux
because you symbolize everything i've come to despise...
but have no power... no will... no hope... to change it
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*prints that out and puts it on my wall* [img]graemlins/thumbs_up.gif[/img]
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Just to make sure - you wrote that?
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The Game.
Though, if you understand it,
you're not falling pray to it.
It's called "playing it." [img]biggrin.gif[/img]
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You were the ONE,I knew there was still intelligent women out there that could enjoy a beer and be cool.
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we're getting a beer sometime [img]graemlins/thumbs_up.gif[/img]
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I read half the post.
I was a good 18-19 yearold party guy,chicks dug me,but ater the big D at age 30 the bar scene was a bust for me.I hadnt "partied" in years and thought it would be like when I when i was younger...no luck.It was all about how much attention I could draw to the chick,or what I drove,or how much $ I made.
Dry humor and being subtle doesnt work in a bar,loud and obnoxious works.Cant do that.
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you must be refering to the 'other' kind of female...
because rest assured, that is a major turn off for me
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i quit bars when i was 21..magine that..old enough to drink by then and tired of it already.. [img]tongue.gif[/img] ..men(i use the term lightly) were so aggravating..groping fucking drunks who cant string two words togather..other than..hey babe..or wanna fuck.. [img]graemlins/sure.gif[/img] i was lucky to get a "wanna beer"..hell no..if i do..i'll buy it my damn self became standard..dancing with the girls or alone was more fun.. [img]eek.gif[/img] i preferred to sit in the back of the room..drinking ice cold draft..watching the fools and rednecks make even bigger asses of themselves.....course when demon chloe came to see me..we had to go out to see what things were like nowadays...guess what...NOTHING had changed!!!..she said..i feel like im stuck in the 80's.. [img]eek.gif[/img] ..and damned if we werent!!!
