The things we have come to know, to rely on are slowly fading into obscurity. But our friendship always remains as a beacon of light shouting:
Get Off Your Lazy Ass and DANCE
And it’s happened once again
I’ll turn to a friend
Someone that understands
Sees through the master plan– Blink 182
I turned 30. So far, it’s not turning out well. I don’t know where my hairline went. It just went SEE YA LATER then BOOM! Gone.
I’m single, certifiably insane and I just had to reapply for my own job.
Today someone blamed the tree in front of their house for Lupus. Not even 12 and I’m done for today.
So here’s some Lily Allen.
Krissy: You’re dating a new guy?
I can’t believe I’m going to say this but I need more then meaningless sex. There. I said it. A gay man says he needs more. I’m disappointed in myself too.
Sam: You’re not leaving the party are you? Where are you going? It’s 11:30!
Jeff: To have sex with a cute but emotionally unavailable boy.
Forward: Famous last words for a terrible relationship.
I have struggled with the idea of change. Can people change? I think they can.
A home is a place where you are out of harm’s way. Where you can turn to at any moment. Regardless of what happened you cannot change the locks; It violates the very concept of home.
At Eclipse (music festival) I found out my best friend has cancer. We danced under the moonlight and fucking killed that dance floor.
Jeff: You’re still the most stubborn bitch I know. You didn’t even let cancer stop you from partying!
Bestie: At Lee’s Palace (the concert) you sat on the side. That’s not you.
She’s right. Sidelines are for suckers.
I bid you farewell. May your future burn bright. The very best in your future endeavors.
Best Regards,
-Jeff
P.S. That horse poem was terrible. Talk about heavy handed imagery. Also you send a horse out to stud.
My gift from the Heavens is that of understanding.
To see order in chaos.
Once the static is separated the picture’s luminance flies off the page. The answer illuminated.
Then my dearest, there’s you.
You’re simply impossible.
There is no pattern, no rhyme, no reason to your nature.
I cannot predict, track, or accurately map your wildly fantastic spirit. To my structuralist patterns you are a maelstrom on my senses.
My heart strings are tangled in a web of your exploding colour
yet my intellect cannot begin to unravel your mystery.
So I embark on my life’s greatest work to discover your enigma. I’ll attempt to understand your weather patterns as you pull me into your hurricane.
Catch me my darling. I’m here waiting.
My Impossible boy.
Jeff 