to perfectly capture the environment i tread upon, i cannot find a single word. at the work, on a chair, pre-programmed songs play forth continuously; i suppose it's good writing music. oh how my veins will really be flowing! but to hear Vivaldi's; "le quattre staggione," that is truly a writing piece. hell, i could masturbate to that song, or else, fondle a sweet girl under a large cypress tree...
i will sit for more, three hours, until i am permitted to exit and retire to my home, my automobile needs gas. i must go to the station and fill her up, that sweet little vixen. i have a name for her, my car, she is Julia; her entire body is blue and she always runs, her cunt is mixed of bolts, wires, and oil semen. i owe alot to her, i've had alot of revelations inside of dear Julia, and i always steer her in the right directions.
the afternoon of yesterday, to the house of my grandmother, to watch my sister play in the swimming pool with our cousin. my uncle, presenting me with a series of questions; "do you go to church with your parents, what are you studying?" i gave him the answers, yet he tells me, he hopes i can find some ground, some basis for growing, and hopes that i can find the lord. because, as he says, "life is hard enough without him." but i do not think so. my life is fine, is peaceful, is easy. i am not religious, and i choose not to be. but it's for alot the populace that they need something they can hope for. i am at peace just simply sitting on Julia's lap and driving her past the river. oh Julia, do i love you! so what has just passed, a coworker, a woman, her name is Roma, always bitch fitting about her work, those dumbass managers, the fucked up store we occupy. i cannot hear what she says, because everytime that i see her, i always think of Roma, that city i once saw, that city park, blocks away was the colosseum, and i remember as i sat next to Darrah at the Rome park, trees abound, shade abound, and how i miss that Rome park, yet some aspects of that city can be shit, can reek of vermin, yet how i miss waiting for the bus, being allowed only two inches of space, and seeing the graffitti for lesbian liberation. and how i miss Firenze, the coffee shop, the girl who worked there, her beautiful black hair and how her eyes pierced me so. i miss you Florence, i miss you Rome. i will go back someday. i will see you someday again. now, nothing more to say, nothing more to think. i will again listen to the repetitive whispers of tired songs on the company speakers.
goodbye my home......