Been having a long talk with myself today. Mostly about why I worry so much and never sem to let myself achieve anything I want. Sure, I have had a few successes. Last night was some of the most ridiculous, wrong, squalorly, and assinine shit I have ever seen.
I was just never meant to be here. I am a complete alien to urbania. No matter how hard I try, and how much I really WANT to belong here, I will just never be happy. And it is why my past is the way it is. The cities are like the devil matt on the shoulder. They tease me with images of me as I used to be:
Lame tattoos just for the sake of being tattoed, the boots and braces or ghetto chucks and cutoff dickies with my socks pulled all the way up, glock23 in the waistband or in the car, big heavy black eyes, drunk at 9 am, a teener of coke in my sock, and a head full of dreams and drivel, trying to convince myself that I am some prohet of lost causes.
And it is tempting sometimes. It was so wonderful to just not care. At all, about anything. But I have stay here.
I would much rather have a few beers with Brien on the porch lookin over the creek and the dirt driveway than sit around and get drunk by myself every night and curse myself for it every morning. It isn't me, it's environmental and it always has been.
So I am sick of the drama. Step one is just getting out of this building. Step two is feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and commanding kudzu vines to rend the cities to ruin. I have come a long way, but I am not done yet. And I can still be a bad motherfucker.
But more on last night, I woke up this morning feeling very jacobs ladder. I want to hide under the couch. Or hunt them all down and hurt them.
I was just never meant to be here. I am a complete alien to urbania. No matter how hard I try, and how much I really WANT to belong here, I will just never be happy. And it is why my past is the way it is. The cities are like the devil matt on the shoulder. They tease me with images of me as I used to be:
Lame tattoos just for the sake of being tattoed, the boots and braces or ghetto chucks and cutoff dickies with my socks pulled all the way up, glock23 in the waistband or in the car, big heavy black eyes, drunk at 9 am, a teener of coke in my sock, and a head full of dreams and drivel, trying to convince myself that I am some prohet of lost causes.
And it is tempting sometimes. It was so wonderful to just not care. At all, about anything. But I have stay here.
I would much rather have a few beers with Brien on the porch lookin over the creek and the dirt driveway than sit around and get drunk by myself every night and curse myself for it every morning. It isn't me, it's environmental and it always has been.
So I am sick of the drama. Step one is just getting out of this building. Step two is feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and commanding kudzu vines to rend the cities to ruin. I have come a long way, but I am not done yet. And I can still be a bad motherfucker.
But more on last night, I woke up this morning feeling very jacobs ladder. I want to hide under the couch. Or hunt them all down and hurt them.
Anyways, I totally feel what youre saying about getting out of the drama. I'm in a very good stretch of life at the moment and enjoying my time in the city right now emmensly but I know I need to be in the mountains. I need to see my parents house in the woods and go to my dads claim. Hes a recreational gold miner and has a little claim at the bottom of a beautiful canyon thats so far from everything. I haven't been there for years but I miss it. I wish I was back there, a grubby little kid with baggy shorts and a sling shot basking in the sun on a big rock or something.
Anyways, good luck with everything.