When you find the one, you’ll know. But what if I’ve already known, had my one and lost her? What if she never comes back?
Cigarettes make me hungry. I cant afford to smoke these days, but I do anyway, as a reason to move, to keep searching. Then I drink a cup of coffee and go crazy. I think I’m on my game and I have time to relax, probably not the best idea on a coffee stomach, to get used to harboring that terror to my health. My brain feels the distraction before me and my body succumbs to the peace. I’m not moderating anymore for the sake of my progress or sanity, but for my comfort, so I don’t feel like I’m going to kill myself or break someone’s neck. I turn to stone, resonating my fleeting regret.
I feel it, becoming slower, clinging to familiarity, longing for that I had. I want to move forward, to grow up, to feed myself and do good. It takes crisis to grow, to inspire change in life, in me and out. I don’t have to tell myself it’s going to be okay, I don’t have to do anything. Disobedience is a funny thing.
I’m a miserable person because I want to be. Jesus felt the pain of the world hanging on the cross and I feel it hanging at the bus stop. He died for my sins, so I can have a cell phone and a blog, so I can burn the blood of the earth because he knew that’s what its there for. I’ve taken enough psychedelics and listened to enough Radiohead to know I do it to myself, that the camera of observation and the magnet of distraction are the only necessary elements and everything else is a separation of desire and necessity. Not that the aforementioned are not.
I can’t think on an empty stomach with such a full brain. I’ll lose it and gain a strange reputation. I used to be a happy kid, yesterday, this morning. Then I felt like everyone I wanted to call or see, I just wanted something from them. The usual. I’m terrified of branches growing from their own and what fruits they may bear.
So here I am at the library, conversing with no one, someone, anyone and everyone simultaneously. A wonderful thing the internet. My English teacher of high school fame said something along the lines that you can’t break the rules until you know them, talkin’ about the greats who’d make up words and ignore grammar rules. It’s good practice, but they’ll get it. Don’t be concise unless it feels right, they’ll get it.
Writing transcends space and time and it does nothing else. We write, they read. With all this opportunity everyone should be able to express themselves however they feel. They should “be the change” as Gandhi prescribed, they should frustrate themselves for the sake of now, the only gift they’ll ever have. Everything else costs moolah.
You can tell when its bullshit, a cry, for help and of wolf. What cry isn’t for help? It feels good to cry, loosens up the membranes. Lets you know how salty your eyeballs are. Lets you know youre hyuman because that’s the only aminal that cries. There is use crying over spilled milk. . . to dilute it, drag it out, make it last.
I think my interview went poorly. I came to the library to type a resume and instead I feel sorry for myself. We’re all in this together so I plan on posting it. I need to keep ourself occupied so we don’t fly off the deep end. I love you.
Laugh damit look at my eyebrows Im so serious right now. My palms are sweaty youre barely listening. I was once in a green truck on a sunny day and shes lost to me too. Im a loser by my own design, I want the good, hard life. Machines are taking the traditional jobs. Negative is the new neutral. Come and sweep me away and well rock out with our proverbial chickens out.
Apparently our postal service is failing? They had some really good songs. Cant say I didn’t see it coming. I wonder if people used to collaborate by snail mail. Omg we still can, yes! Good idea!
Anyway come see my band play at the Black Lodge July 9th, it seems so far away I hope I can make it. One day at a time as they say, time takes time, time makes money, and money is funny. Oh yeah carpe diem baby.
I apopopologize if this upset you get a life
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