I sit at the table in the living room in the dark and outside snow falls.  The words come to me in a musical pattern that is soft and beautiful.  The words drift to my paper like snow.  Cello music is substituted for the muting of white --more suited for this peaceful place of color in my ear.  

I'm Back

I've been away too long.  Time to get writing again...

In a crowd of myself.  Seeing all the MEs.  I watch as they wander and wonder and bump into each other on their way to nowhere in particular.  I want to lasso them all and pull them close, get them to concentrate on the bouncing ball that hops over the narrative of our lives.  They are too far apart though and so I just watch as they grow further and further apart, too fragmented to ever come together, too me to ever be anything but what they are...

I sit in this chair and stare.  I can see everything but nothing touches me.  Time ticks by and by and I sink deeper and deeper into the faux leather.  Only my eyes and the top of my head are visible now--in case any cares to look.  I reach up and try to grab the arms of the chair but I'm already too far gone.  Soon enough I will see nothing and nothing will see me.

Lost and losing, everything confusing.  I'm done and not quite sure why.  If you could tell me, sell me, on this notion of time I might be agreeable but as it stands I can't befriend this mortal enemy.  Nothing good comes from it.  Nothing at all.

Sometimes you need a good friend to tell you that its okay to pursue a dream, that you only have one life and that you shouldn't live it under anyone else's terms.  In the back of my mind I knew this but sometimes the world puts pressures on you and you feel that you should be doing something else when the one thing you love to do is pushed aside.  Fuck it.  I'm not going to live my life wishing I had purued my true passion.  There may be consequences but I'd rather live with those than regret...

I remember seeing this kid on The Late Show a few years ago.  He was whacked out on some sort of drug and not making a whole lot of sense.  I think the reason for his visit on the show was to promote a book.  He was famous for something else which escapes me now but had become an "author."  His "book" contained one word.  Throughout the interview he was pompous and condescending.  He seemed to think his idea of a one word "book"  was brilliant. What I wanted to tell this kid was that his idea for a one word book was one of those ideas we all have after smoking a joint.  The difference is that most of us disregard these ideas later realizing that they are stupid.  What seems earth shattering while you're high doesn't necessarily translate into the clear minded world.  Evidently he didn't stay clear minded long enough to realize his book idea made him look like an immature ass...   

Maybe I am just a writer after all...

Lost and dying in this place inside a place.  Where words never penetrate and happiness has no home.  The loneliness is waiting in the shadows to pull you in and devour you.  It will leave nothing but a skeletal soul and and the bits of flesh stuck between its rotting teeth.  The mat at your front door reads:  WELCOME.

Take from me everything I have.  The things that matter most.  Leave me behind in the dirt but don't forget about me.  Keep looking over your shoulder because I will always rise up again--stronger, badder and meaner.  Worry about that day, the one where you have to face me again.

It's sad when you think of someone as a friend and they turn out to be quite the opposite.  Self-preservation is important but being an extreme egotist is disgusting and shows to me mental weakness.  Anyone can be a pig, it's easy.  Just roll in the mud...

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I want to sell my house, sell off my shit, get my dogs and leave...

I don't care.  No, not even a bit...

I don't have any more love to give.  It has been used up on one too many undeserving women.  It's not all bad though.  I've learned a lot.  I've learned for instance that I don't need love.  Sex will be just fine.  Thank-you and goodbye...

I think to myself how bad my life could have been and I smile because I am free. 

I sucked the poison from your bite and spit it back on your evil eyes...

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You don't know me.  You will never know me.  I'm not bragging.  I'm just saying.  You will never know the best side of me because I have yet to reveal it.  I'm waiting for the right moment.  The clock is ticking... 

As I try to conjure words to put on the page my mind comes unhinged and the once loyal letters spill onto the floor. They lay menancingly in a jagged heap. No amount of conjoling or threatening will lift them and as I stare they melt and shift and take shape and then realization hits me hard. It is you staring back at me. The murderer of my words. The princess of my sordid fairy tale...

You won't change me. They won't change me. None of you will change me. I won't be drug down and trampled--spit upon by the howling crowd. I will spit back and aim for the eyes. I will throw fists and profanity and everything within my power until I breathe my last breath but you will never change me. I will never be you. Fuck you and your weak ways.