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trash A couple of livers drowning in oceans of whiskey and the lifeguards are all off duty during hurricanes. Making stupid bets on dumptruck races. The winner is you. The prize is everything you never wanted. I've hired private eyes to follow each other around. The mystery is solved. This is not productive. And nobody will admit a goddamn thing because everyone's guilty. Quick, look suspicious. This is one big prison. How much can you really talk without saying anything? We're talking in circles, and squares, and trapezoids. It smells like something's burning. The horizon's aflame, but the fire department won't do anything because it's too pretty. I never thought armageddon would be beautiful. But a lot of things are surprising these days. And destruction has always been my forte. These drugs worked too well cause I don't care right now. I sleep later and later. My room stays dark, and I don't want it to change. But when I finally wake up, I'm going to be real upset. I keep finding myself sitting up in bed in the middle of the night, trying to calculate the distance that's grown between me and anything real. I'm becoming the monster underneath my own bed. I'm so good at losing myself and then acting confused. I've drawn up diagrams and charts, built prototypes, in some vain attempt to rebuild something good. I don't know where you ended up. I'm sitting on a couch watching myself squander opportunities, and laughing at my own misfortunes as if they were someone else's. The whole thing was a joke after all. It's all a joke. It's so funny my eyes are bleeding. But this is not a sitcom. My life has become a dramatic reenactment of what it used to be, and we're all actors that couldn't get a bigger break. It's just a matter of time before someone slits their wrists in the bath. It won't be me this time. It amazes me how pissed off I can get. I didn't think it was possible to be so passive and yet so angry. Sitting slumped on the floor, against the wall, this just doesn't make sense. I don't know you, and you fucking have some conception you've painted, but it's sure as hell not me. I've traced the lines on the maps, but still can't see how I got here. You always wanted to be a racecar driver, but when you imagined it, you weren't crashing into a wall at 200+mph and burning alive. If you scream louder, the paramedics might come faster. I like being dramatic. We're either all going to make it or we're all going to fail. This is one twisted experiment, and I don't think any of us realized what we were signing on for. It's become a test in raised expectations, we're not satisfied as easily as we used to be. Everything we do is a pacifier. The box is all there is. There is no outside. And stuffing cheap food into our whining bellies is a poor substitute for feeling whole again. I'd cry us a new world if I could. But it seems that all I'm good at right now is feeling numb. This is a misrepresentation, and you are a liar. I keep hoping the alarm clock will go off and I'll wake up as the moon. ----- - - 6:32 p.m. , January 29, 2005 personal empowerment - 9:48 p.m. , January 12, 2005 jaksdf - 7:22 p.m. , December 19, 2004 the break up - 11:08 p.m. , December 16, 2004 fists of rage - 6:28 p.m. , December 13, 2004 |