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Passion and Errors

Life is interesting as good fortune gives birth to utter disaster.
Tell me, is it Spring again? 
I will reiterate last year's soliloquy toward our local whore: Spring. She is a temptress and results in a chaotic orgy of nature. The soulless birds and their beady eyes hide in the big, busty, blooming trees of hers. Their song puts old ladies into a spell, to where they wreck their luxury vehicles into small children. For me, I wake up and journey down my driveway past the trees and the birds and they are silent for they know of my hatred. My car is covered in white shit. Who does that? Birds; soulless ones.
A few slumbers ago, I watched a crow and felt him to be my friend. He was chillin' in the brick courtyard, pecking away at someone's lunch. An administrator marched forth with purpose and the crow wished to be unobserved, and so he flew a couple feet away to further inspect how he would tackle someone else's lunch. The crow flew in such a way that I could see his little crow-feet swaying and I thought it was cute.
I'm about to graduate and I'm feeling those dark existentialist feelings of despair. I wish to be unobserved like the crow, so I might further inspect how in the fuck I'm going to tackle my life.
 We are fooled, as the lush and dewy-eyed Spring will wither and dry into a haggard old woman christened Autumn. I plan to exploit her.
2007

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