I saw today that a former friend of mine got a new job. He
got out.
It would be nice to follow in those footsteps. I got out the
first time by being laid off. The second time by being fired.
Here’s hoping the third time, is a fucking shitastic
awesomefest.
And that I get to make the choice.
Of course, I’m the one who keeps diving back in.
Gluttony and all. It’s my deadly sin.
I stopped writing months ago. Even though I get paid to
write now. I feel like, rather, I know that I don’t write anymore. I got
inspired for about 15 minutes today. At the desk. I threw out some e-mails and
got some responses and then flat-lined.
It had more to do with a feeling than a fact, but I still
have to face it. Head on. You know, for the penis.
I wonder too much about the past. I don’t wonder about the
future. I don’t care about the future. At least that’s what I tell myself. I
lie a lot. Not to other people.
Scorching forcing eating bumbling stifling working forking
fasting fucking.
One time the girl looked at me and I didn’t look away. She
laughed seconds later. I’ll never know if she was laughing at me or not.
Because I didn’t have the guts to ask. I did have the guts to not look away,
like usual, but I didn’t ask. She wanted to tell me. I didn’t have the guts to
ask.
My mind still wanders over to her side of the bed. Every
day. I can’t stop it from happening. No matter what. I’m happy now. Happier
than I was before. Before what? I don’t know. Can I say I’m happier now, more
content, more whatever than I was then? No. But I can’t say I’m not either.
It’s weird. I don’t know what’s right or wrong. What
happened and what I want to have happened. It’s all a blur. I guess it helps one
cope, the memory’s ability to play tricks on you. If we all remembered things
exactly as they happened, every fucking second, we’d go crazy. We’d go mad. And
I want that. I want to be mad, because of it. Not be mad because you think you
are.
My head explodes with pain now. The teeth are rotten. The
sinuses are infected. My heart probably is waiting to explode or just stop or
whatever happens when they don’t have the strength to go on. Like a person, I guess.
Sometimes they just quit. No warning. No reason given. It just happens.
Bye bye.
I stopped drinking soda for over 5 years once.
I dated the same girl for over 5 years once.
I drink soda now.
I’ve dated six girls since.
Why does that matter? Why do I type it? Fuck you. Fuck you
in the ear. Or maybe a bloody eye socket after the eye was ripped out by feral
cats. Sure, yeah, that sounds like fun. To watch. Maybe to make happen.
Probably not though.
You see? You see?
No. You never do.
Romanticizing the past like it’s some great place. Like a
78-year old who wants the 1950s back. Why? Because he's a racist shitbag. That’s why.
I don’t hate anyone. There are plenty of people, individuals
I can’t stand. But I don’t hate. It’s a waste of time. It really is. Try not
hating for a moment.
Of course, that’s a lie. Many times I’ve hated myself. Most
would say I still do. I’m not sure anymore. I guess my behavior kind of says I
hate myself.
Fucked up.
Do it. Smell it. Eat it. Fuck it. Lick it. Write it down.
Drive the extra mile. Take the wrong turn on purpose so you can talk for
another five minutes.
Why? Because you’ll be dead one day.
Either of old age at 91 or run over by a semi while getting
a box of diapers for your newborn baby.
Which is more likely? Depends on the level of hatred. The size
of the dick. The blue of the eyes.
I bought a new car two and half years ago. It’s going to
pass 80,000 miles in a day or so.
Even the mechanics at the dealer go “Damn, dude. You drive a
lot.”
No shit.
And I’m tired of doing it.
Not because of the deed itself, but the destination.
Then change it, asshole.
I’m working on it, I’ll say.
You’re always working on it.
It’s part of my charm.
And your destiny.
