But then there’s the morning after – the hangover, the realization that I’m not quite as available as I thought I was the night before. and she’s gone and I’m haunted by yet another road not taken.

I have no idea how i get myself into fucked up situations, one could almost say i have  a talent, but the truth of the matter is, every single time i start with best of intentions. As to how all this spirals into one giant fuckfest is beyond me or perhaps i walk right into these things.

The imaginary movie currently playing inside my head is called “Sex and India.” It is a story about a few people and their radical approach towards sex in modern hardly-free India. The kind of work that could get more criticism than applause. I disgust myself but I am not unhappy about that.

Im turning into a foulmouth. Im not even sure if im allowed to use that as a noun.

I suppose i should just get a new blog.

“Rome is burning,” he said, as he poured himself another drink. “Yet, here I am knee deep in another river of pussy.”

“Here it comes,”  she thought. “Another self indulgent, whiskey soaked, diatribe about how fucking great everything was in the past. And how all us poor souls born too late to see the Stones at – wherever, or snort the good coke that they had at Studio 54 “

Well, we all just missed out on practically everything worth living for. And the worst part was, she agreed with him.

“Here we are,”  she thought,  “at the edge of the world – the very edge of western civilization and all of us are so desperate to feel something… anything… that we keep falling into each other and fucking our way toward the end of days.”

Has our acquaintance been so brief that the difference between sarcasm and sincerity continues to perplex? I’d have thought we’d endured one another longer than that.

Happy New Year.

How was last night?

Here’s what i spent mine with.

*sigh* yes, i gloat.