07 December 2007

Friend Of Mine

Right. Menthol hits my lungs now instead of the morning dew. Both burn equally. One weakens and one strengthens. I cannot discern between the two. Merry Christmas. If you partake in the event. If you don't, then happy holidays. I'm unsure of the trouble there.
I still have green eyes. No worry there.
I don't really speak anymore. I just grunt sounds through my throat and make hand gestures. Very primitive. Very unfulfilling in conversation.
When I get back to Germany, I will do many things. I will fuck prostitutes. I will leave the Army. I will travel to Amsterdam. I will get very very high. I will fuck more prostitutes. I might buy a watch. I will get new tatoos.
I am unsure what to write. Things blow up. It is very simple. There is an ignitor. A fuel source. Something that explodes and a detonator. It is just that easy. Do not let anyone tell you it is more complicated. Things blow up. And in its wake it will rip. It matters very little how much armor a man wears. He will be ripped. Flesh is rippable. As in it has the capacity of being ripped.
It is Christmas time, my favorite time of year.
I'll see you in heaven ring the bells of the 97.
You owe me a party say the bells of Mata Hari.
Not right this second sound the bells of Saint Desmond.
I am a pillar peal the bells of Sienna Miller.
You only come to leave us chime the bells of old Saint Jesus.