Speak when you are angry???

"Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret."

Yah.. I just read that somewhere on some crap lousy cyber site and its so stupid true that I felt the need to blog it.

I just wanted to say that I think it's horse shit that the male gender is so good at the whole "we'll talk about it later" move..

The fact that (some/most) of you (in my experience) can be completely irate about something I did... And look me in the eyeballs for a day or two before talking about it is completely mind bottling...

But again... This approach makes me question my tendency to want to lash out irrationally when you act like a damn fool..

So I guess I have come to appreciate the weirdness that is wiener-centric.
[females are way more impulsive. All crazy craze like... ]

I am not being sexist... Cause I know far too well of the wiener population that will flip a bitch at the drop of a hat...

But damn it...
Sometimes it good to be a gangster and let the shit sizzle before dealing with it.

I just wish I could look at your face when I want to shake you retarded and contain myself.

I will be working on that.

That is all.

Always for the First Time

Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occuring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you
In reality
The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room
Where you appear alone before me
At first you coalesce entierly with the brightness
The elusive angle of a curtain
It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse
With the diagonal slant of its girls picking
Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare
Before them a T-square of dazzling light
The curtain invisibly raised
In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in
It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep
You as though you could be
The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you
You pretend not to know I am watching you
Marvelously I am no longer sure you know
You idleness brings tears to my eyes
A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures
It's a honeydew hunt
There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest
There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette
Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings
Flaring out in the center of a great white clover
There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy
There is
By my leaning over the precipice
Of your presence and your absense in hopeless fusion
My finding the secret
Of loving you


Always for the First time.