As I looked at my brown leather strapped, gold faced watch, I begin to think about the different compliments that I have received from wearing it for the last couple of years. My father gave it to me. He told me that he got it as a gift, but when he brought it home, I knew, with solid determination, that I had to get that watch. Imagine, the look of my eyes, the look of a child with genuine interest in a piece of solid. But was it time? Was it all right for me to wear this grown-man's object? I was only 14. He refused to give it to me, at first. However, still, my determination had not withered. No, so I had to keep asking, begging, to wear the jewelry. I waited for the question. "If I give it to you, will you be careful not to lose it?" Of course! He would stare at me for a while, then give it to me. Yes! Finally, I will be ballin'. As soon as I strapped the leather around my not-too-hairy wrist, I transformed. Who was it that I transformed to? Wrong question. What was it that I transformed into? Yes, I became, to my father, a piece of him. Somewhere near his heart, perhaps.
Corny? Sweet? Then stop reading this you shit. Oh, why the anger? Lovely temper Mr. Suntae, lovely. Thank you. I apologize to whoever you are. The conscience is a troubling part of my life. I write this to express the memories of my life and sometimes, it is hard to become personal without sounding so feminine. Yes, you got it, I am not only an angry person, but a sexist, angry man. I proudly admit it, but, I believe, we are all innately sexist. It is impossible not to be; what do you have in your pants? Balls? Pussy? Both? Get the point? Well then, digressing is what I do, I guess. From an anecdote to the genitals in your pants, you speak of lovely things Mr. Suntae, lovely. Lovely, I am. Lovely, I am. Who would disagree? From what's been said in this entry, it is apparent that Mr. Suntae has an issue that's been common throughout the world. The power of the conscience. How can we control it? Do we ignore it when we think we should? Or will that effect the ways of our lives critically, and perhaps endanger our awareness of living? Living! Doing what we want, doing what we think, and doing that sexy, Latina girl who lives across the hall from you; however, the world only permits us to do what we should. Should do this, should do that? Who the fuck is telling us what we should do? This is why we have rebellions. This is how we have anger infiltrated into the bones and blood of our breathing bodies. Adrenaline is pumped and ready, until the next day. The next day. When will we see this next day? Next day, of course! Ah ha! Next day. What should I wear for tomorrow? ... What, are you a 12 year old prissy bitch motherfucker? Woah, where did that come from? Exactly. Wait, what? Things come fast. Things will hit you so hard, you forgot that it was the next day. The next day. Do we wait for it? Or is the day waiting for us? Maybe, it's nether. Fuck you, stop playing games with my head. The only game that's being played is the one where you're thinking. Wait, like Sudoku? No you idiot - just... thinking. Thinking is a game? Yes, yes, yes. Why do we play it? Why do we ask questions? It is because an answer doesn't exist. But, then, that defeats the whole purpose of actually asking a question! ...so, what are you talking about? Right before we do anything, say anything, thinking is involved, and thinking is a fundamental part of asking a question. The question. The question is about life. Let me rephrase... THE QUESTION IS LIFE. The stream of emotions is what we use as humans. We are a capricious bunch of motherfuckers, and I say this with intense enjoyment. Ha ha. Yes, ha ha. Why laugh? <-(There's a question!) I don't know.<-(Good answer!) But I am happy. <-(Question my happiness)
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