the art of kEith ::: 'E' on everything

Staring at the Black and White ass of a golden haired woman, average looks, but staring at her ass wobble back and forth on the StairMaster in front of me. She’s wearing a devil and Mr. Johnson t-shirt. I know this because I saw her before I got on the machine behind her. And the Jesus in me says, no I shouldn’t be looking, but I’ve already forgiven myself. And everything is upside down these days. I swear Jesus wouldn’t mind if I fuck. Chastity is cruel, and insane, in this time. The devil let the whole thing out of the bag; there’s no way to resist. The stimulus in every alley.

Do you think the saint Paul had an ass in tight clothing wobbling in his face? It’s just too late to come back kids, fucking is the normal, insanity is the mean, and all’s one big rotten parade.

And have I mentioned that the culture is a mind-bending repetitive cunt.

Anyway, so there I am on a StairMaster, doing all sorts of random steps. There’s no way I can follow any sort of discipline. It hurts too much to bombard oneself through this worldly physical dream to actually do something the “right” way.

And the whole thing really is about how long can I stare at this wagging ass. And imagine, imagine that vagina, see it there squishing back and forth. She must know I’m looking, because she is letting me. And the more I look, the more I am grateful. This is therapy now. Just looking and looking, imagining that vagina.

And come to think of it, she’s really not that bad, maybe I should try and talk to her.

And lets not think about the fiancé, the ex fiancé, who I talk to every day, who has nobody else, who is working it through.

What can I do but stare like a dear in the headlights of heaven