I suck at life

Wubble Wubble…there's nothing like the tire swing in your gut when your ears pick up the succession of stilettos increasing by decibel, like a possibly maybe time capsule sent overnight delivery. But the gut is an asshole in disguise by factory design, a one word extinguisher that sends out way too many commands in morse code. I guess the best way is to change the i/o setup so the signal flows clean. I just wanna lock pupils sometimes with a human with a funhouse mirror in hand. Everyone's so concerned with distortion and now now now type validation existence in the eyeballs that it hurts my feelings and my style. If there was some unemployed Kung Fu master of some beatnik school on earth that was down to share the info, I would graciously join the team. Then he or she could format my hard drive with some ill ass programs like walk on water 2.0 or disarm an assassin robot version 7 or something worth taking up brain span. But even better, if I could track down a flutist with mad estrogen who can keep up with my chaotic jazz style that would be pretty. I came up on a geek ass band today who killed it in 3 of my senses, almost 4 because I almost tasted it. They brought the hottest sauce, I was about to fall apart and shed some…soul they had…powerful goodness. When they snuck in Thelonious I fucking stated to myself "no competition" and turned by entire body almost 180 degrees…that felt I had. I saw the sad faced girl again. It's like she's automatically sad, not depressed, but sad an extra mile. I almost understand, like 70 percent with an 8 percent error. Just seeing that makes me think I'm not alone almost, like I wasn't the only alien left behind. I just wanna wake up after a time that I fall asleep and find that my outer shell has finally let up. Then I'll be legit and start looking for gravity so that I can kick it in the chest because it will be that time. For now I'll just keep the peace and continue to work on my distress signal. It'll happen. I just need to grow some patience and read more of Einstein's poetry. Fuck I'm on fumes…i need a soft landing