Monday, July 04, 2005

Never Really Awake

I sat down this morning to write you all a post. It was going to be brilliant and damn sexy. Terribly witty, with some skillfully told anecdotes, killer one-liners and just the right dash of dry, cynical humor. No really, I swear.

Instead, as I opened Microsoft Word I decided I should quickly update my resume, accomplishing one thing on a day I planned to otherwise squander away in blissful (well-earned might I add) laziness.

But you see, one thing led to another and next thing I knew I was on my knees, raising my fists to God in His heaven and screaming "What do you want from me?"”
Yes, that old bit. After much thought and deliberation I've worked my problem out to be the simple fact that I'’m a bit of an egomaniac. Which means of course, I want to help people. Which is cool, I mean... that'’s where doctors come from. But I don't want to go to med school. Whine whine.

You see, haven'’t you heard the news? Life is pointless.

And so because the only thing worthwhile anymore is staying in bed, instead of posting something new I'll just pass off something from back when I was an optimist, cleaned up and transcribed.
Trust me, it's suppose to be funny. And if you don't get it, don't worry. Everyone forgets the punchline in the end.

She walked in and there was me and I said
Good-bye I hope you find it
Although I will always hate you for looking
And as soon as you're closed in, trapped in, you try to break free
I hate you just for trying
and I know
You love him
And you hate him for that

Dreams cloud my vision
even though
Fell asleep at eleven
When I
Knew you weren't coming
And when I
woke up later I knew that
I'd been sleeping with my
eyes wide open

And I seek my
absolution, slate wiped clean, brand new
In you
So you see?
I need you (more than you'll ever know)
So I can start again, stand again, breath again
No anger, no guilt, no bitterness in being
You more than I'll ever tell you

Fucking sick, twisted games
I/We (together) play
And breath again, again
'cause I can't now.

And now the question is how do I turn this stream
of consciousness
Chicken scratch, black ink vomit onto paper
into something
Alive in my mind
but killed it when I had to go
and write it down.

Hint: the best kind of epitaphs are the kind you laugh at.

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