Fatalistic Fancy of B.E.N. Jan.30--03

At the age of 22, B.E.N. doesn't really feel like its time for responsibility. Feelings like those are indefinitely suspended when you wake up at 2pm, drink 3 forty-four ounce cups worth of cola, living with yr parents with no real plans to keep a job, much less even pretend to look for a job, when all that is important is working on your car, helping your dad in the garage, watching countless hours of made for men sport/mechanic shows on cable, and watching porn with yr younger brothers and sister. At the age of 22, you don't really feel like you need any responsibilities. There isn't anyone special he's trying to impress. Girls, in specifics, are rarely on his mind. Instead, he things about girls, in the general terms. He's managed his fantasies to exclude any faces, even the pretty ones, even the thoughts about the lips. He used to think the fantasy of the lips were important, for as the manchild believes, or at least believed once, the fantasies of fellatio were intended to work up his afternoon appetite. He knows what your thinking, but he really actually meant appetite in the hunger of the stomach department. At the age of 22, it was hard to detect any sadness on the guy. I'm sure had he been himself at age 52, it would be a different story. I'm sure in the 30's, this world would have worn him down like a lick of salt. That's not to say that at the age of 22, he was not in sadness. All memories of his defeat were confined into one. He wasn't the type of person to dwell on every little misfortune, on every downward glance of missed eye contact, of purposefully missed eye contact. At the age of 22, girls did not notice him. Insomuch as to say that he was so transparent in their eyes that even the shy ones would not mind making out with men in front of him, shirts off, skirts up, the special night panties for his eyes only. For as big as the man-child was, and he WAS, his presence was only just a breeze. For as loud as his voice would go, describing the wildest stories of grandeur and conquest and elegance, he was seldom heard. There were times when he'd receive a response, though the majority of the feedback was accidental. They were just answering a similar question to someone standing right behind him. It was almost as if he had known that he was bound for the inevitable. As the wheel of fortune spun around him, could he have had any subtle sensations of what was to come not in just 4 months and 1 week? Could it have been that his will was weak? He had it come easy. He still has his honor but yet with few to have truly recognized any of it. I mean no harm to speak of the dead for honor in death tis better than that in life.