HIBetween You and Roger Cadillo
I hope all is well with you man. Im just working and keeping busy.
Take care, Roger
hey, man. i know. i have hated this thing for a while and had the panic then finally realized there isn't much to understand.
basically, you have to remember that almost everything you do or say when someone sends you a "am I hot" thing or "eat my pussy for springtime" thing will come up on your profile as a "story" or some shit. not so bad if your good but not so good if you have a tendency to be glib or say some weird shit. which i do. so, i should probably check if this fucker is public too. point is, when you add something like, the "spank me for good karma" application check the main boxes before you add the application so you can see the little floating hand or buddha on a beachball icon and walk away blessed.
also, from time to time check your profile by pressing the "profile" button. it lets you know what can be seen and you can hit a button (i think its an x) to make the feed private or delete the whole fucker altogether.
other than that, this thing is less touchy feely private learning how to flirt and sometimes get a little dirty or get all tender pony with some stranger you've stalked or has stalked you or some friend of a friend you always wanted to talk to or just someone you see all the time and like to make crack the fuck up.
its more of a thing where people you haven't seen for a shit ton of time - like from kindergarten when you got caught dry-humping blue eyed april farrel (those were the days) or someone from high school who you were like, "i wonder what the fuck he/she is doing and if she/he remembers that one time at band camp with the southern comfort and handfull of marbles . . . e-gad" or whoever someone you might want to find or wants to find you can track you down. which could be good or not so great, depending on how many "happy buddha on a beach ball palms you've gotten" in the wonderful application we call the waking, aka "real life".
so, post the pics. put up all your adventures. proof. list your achievements with links - think school reunion or family reunion after being let out of rehab - or i just ran into the lost love of my life, Hale-bop at the 99 cent store and she was like, what have you been doing with your life for the last seven years - or some sort of interaction with someone who's memory of you probably goes something like, "hey, the last time i saw you, you called me daddy while eating chicken raddicio with my sister - who you were dating - who has long since joined the last order of chaste jugglers from the sacred heart temple of west covina.
or steve jobs is like, hey - lemme buy you a cup of coffee and see what the fuck is up -- i wanna hear your thoughts on EVERYTHING.
honestly, roger. i'm a 33 year old baby and i don't know shit about shit. i write poems. i'm forced to evolve and adjust to this shit. myspace got me in trouble for spewing the words - e-gad - the last few have been an incredibly crispy and fetid delicacy that i will always think warmly of when dreaming about meadows, ruffle panties, radio shows, broken windows and cows pissing - ah, love - but what are you gonna do, man? its this thing - then that thing and basically, everyone either wants to get rich, adored, worshiped, respected, or laid.
or, the expected tag - all of the above.
i feel like mr. rogers standing dazed in a 7=11 at 4am brained by the god damn microwave but things are fucked and math made the guys from the paining time able to do shit 3 dimensional like and make angels fluffier - forced perspective/advancement in techniques - like the machine gun - and all the wonderful tidbits of humanity and the preservation of our cunt farts (aka: culture) will live on 4-EVER!!!
so, good luck roger. i miss you. i hope you are doing well. last i heard you went to iron maiden back to back.
fantastic.
that's all i got.
god bless.
bp
