Somebody twittered: "Bring fiancé to shop for wedding dress or leave him at home?"
My immediate response was "Bring to shop. Who knows, maybe he'll find something that fits better".
Of course, I should never have said that. Immediate responses such as these are the reason I, myself, will never have a fianc (I won't even pretend I can remember the key-combo to do the accent).
Fuck, I can't even date without this huge logic war proceeding in the most nether recesses of my mind. It's like, I'm dating this girl, yeah? I say a stupid thing like "Wow, we're really dating!" She smiles, inwardly pleased by my apparent na·ïve·té (at least I don't hide the fact that I'm copying from an online dictionary).
Then I switch off the computer [rage quitting].
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Those three dashes signify the original poem, which I was resurrected to modify and make the spelling a little better (and actually make sense). Now however, we will get 'meta'.
So, while writing this poem, I actually had the experience of exploring these 'posterior' areas of my brain, much in the same way that you could, perhaps, browse through a city using the Google Earth application. What I saw amazed me.
Such emptiness.
Yet in such emptiness, such profound beauty and joy. And tears. Tears, for the sake of it! Actual watery discharge from these glands.
I re-routed the tear glands so that the water would next time flow out of my penis (as is usual, for a man), and not interrupt the operation of my contact lenses.
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