Shadow of shallow

Three fucking months and all I do is grow shallow by the day… pardon my oxymoron, I know you can’t grow shallow…it’s like saying I’m big in a small way…I’m fucking aware. However, you do understand my point? Having woken up every day for the past ten years, to make a cautious effort to be myself…as different and queer as I may seem, I try to remain ME. I think there is something in this Atlanta water, besides the “ass grow” that is. I now wear red dresses that look like someone taped a bandage to my skin and heels made out of timon and pumbas epidermis. What the fuck did this city do to me? Skipping through my fever ray playlist, I don’t even listen and wonder anymore, I just….skip!


I am aware that there is more to life than malls, online shopping and religiously watching desperate housewives every Sunday night, which is sheer fuckery if I might add. I’m very good with words, but my conversation plant withered right before my eyes. Now I blurt out absurd slangs at random pitches. The other day, I overheard myself say “on the boss boss”….retracked my day and the preceding events…realized that I got it from jah-bless..like really tho kim? I didn’t bother shaking my head, instead, I said it one more time and watched it spread…now the women I live with wont stop saying it.

What happened to my dreams of staring at the sea shells and downing a bottle of rum by the sea? Like pac, my ambitions of smoking a port to clear my thoughts out? Shallow I tell you! Not surprised though, this is the “norm” to many. I weep for those who never had the opportunity to walk the streets of los Angeles at 4am till the sun rises…acid trip or not, it was an experience…an awakening one at that.

I must have slipped back into slumber, because it obviously takes more than a brilliant acid trip to shield one from the shadow of shallowness…depth, where art thou? I’d take two more weeks of round the clock vertigo!

…………………………………………..I’ll be back, overstock just sent me an email….no, really!