Here We Are

Well, here we are. Drunk, and alone. Typical situation. So… what shall the topic of conversation be on this fine evening? Drunken loneliness? Lonely drunks? Skunks? Punks? No? You may be thinking: he is alone, poor fucker, and there can be, in light of this fact, no conversation. Wrong. You simply have no fucking idea how many incredible conversations one can have with one’s own little self. Sometimes those are the best conversations of all. No distractions. No silly comments from well-meaning idiots who haven’t the slightest idea. No interruptions, waugh, that is the best! No one to tell me I am wrong! Whoop!
How did I get here? Well, let’s go back in time… two people fuck, a child is born, is christened Mr. Hellstrøm, grows through trials and tribulations to be a middle aged cynical asshole… voilá! Simple as that.
Time isn’t after our asses. Time doesn’t care. The days go by, and it is up to us to fill them with meaning, or with Dada, or with beauty, or with hell.
No matter what you do
The heavens are blue
The rest of your life lies before you

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