Hidden curriculum
Posted on Wed Jul 04 15:45:00 UTC 2007
Dawn breaks, a slap in the face! – I flinch instinctive.
My life would be a whole lot simpler if all I wanted was getting my dick sucked. Getting your dick sucked ain't that hard, probably even I can manage that, probably even for free! at most it would cost fifty bucks, but I reckon I could talk them down to forty, especially on Karangahape Road. Especially if they have meth mouth. Yeah, missing teeth for the win.
But nah! I want intimacy. I want whispers and tangled sheets and falling asleep together. The whole stinking travel package. The complete Caribbean cruise, sailing into the sunset, cooking scrambled roses and bacon for breakfast. I am a hopeless romantic
and
love is complicated, Not the big Love that beats its chest and sinks ships and drinks poison, though that is wonderful and it sucks at the same time. I'm talking about the little love. The small 'l' of supermarkets. Notes passed in class. Shy smiles. It's difficult. I wonder sometimes if there is a hidden curriculum written on your skin (maybe in ultraviolet ink), and maybe if I had the right eyes I could read it. Maybe I already can, or maybe there simply ain't and I can't and I won't ever be able to.
Maybe I think too much. Don't matter anyway, I got three months. It's confusing.
I have learned recently that you can't trust too much what people say, 'bout anybody. You gotta figure this shit out for yourself, form your own opinions. Over time with enough samples an average will tend towards the truth. They will crucify you on the very flimsiest of evidence, it ain't worth worrying.
I ain't worth worrying.
My life would be a whole lot simpler if all I wanted was getting my dick sucked. Getting your dick sucked ain't that hard, probably even I can manage that, probably even for free! at most it would cost fifty bucks, but I reckon I could talk them down to forty, especially on Karangahape Road. Especially if they have meth mouth. Yeah, missing teeth for the win.
But nah! I want intimacy. I want whispers and tangled sheets and falling asleep together. The whole stinking travel package. The complete Caribbean cruise, sailing into the sunset, cooking scrambled roses and bacon for breakfast. I am a hopeless romantic
and
love is complicated, Not the big Love that beats its chest and sinks ships and drinks poison, though that is wonderful and it sucks at the same time. I'm talking about the little love. The small 'l' of supermarkets. Notes passed in class. Shy smiles. It's difficult. I wonder sometimes if there is a hidden curriculum written on your skin (maybe in ultraviolet ink), and maybe if I had the right eyes I could read it. Maybe I already can, or maybe there simply ain't and I can't and I won't ever be able to.
Maybe I think too much. Don't matter anyway, I got three months. It's confusing.
I have learned recently that you can't trust too much what people say, 'bout anybody. You gotta figure this shit out for yourself, form your own opinions. Over time with enough samples an average will tend towards the truth. They will crucify you on the very flimsiest of evidence, it ain't worth worrying.
I ain't worth worrying.