An Ode to Black Stretchy-Pants

As I pass

I do see your ass

giggling in your black stretchy-pants

clearly lacking decorum

decked to the hilt of whoredom

But I am not complaining

for it is quite entertaining,

as in a strip club,

I am now due for a rub

won't you lend me a cheek

This is a blog without a purpose

I just want to write. I am ok with that.

New Semester

I am now taking classes at a new school. The people are nicer and smarter. I am not sure what this makes much of a difference as I had imagined it would. These things are pluses, but, as I am constantly discovering, most of my contentedness derives from the degree to which I am able to manage my internal conflicts;—those being the burning desire for intimacy with a girl and my inability to concentrate (albeit without my medicine, which I loathe to take). The former used to be kept in relative confinement through frequent masturbation, but strangely enough, every so many months or so I find that no amount or degree of obscene images will sate my carnal desires, building up simultaneously to the desire for ever-increasingly deplorable acts of debauchery is its companion desire, that ever-present need for the physical despite what logic would implore.