an apology to myself

i am sorry
whatever is flowing out of me right now needs to never stop
and i need to make myself a conduit for whatever needs to get out
to show people what i think should be seen
the selective presentation of realities that i create

for what?

i don't know

don't ask for what and don't ask why

you just do what you do and you need to keep doing it
the [something] doesn't know he's a [something]

and i do not know i am a writer

i've spit so many cliches onto this thing i can't count
but they were something nice to me
they were a sentiment i wished to share with the few that are known to peruse these messages which i throw into bottles to be cast into the sea never to be read

and that's ok

because i am still me and i don't need gold stars or pats on the back

but maybe you come out of here thinking about something differently
maybe i turn your kaleidoscope eyes and you see reality a little differently now than anyone else does and you don't wonder how the kaleidoscope will get back to where it was you just watch it change and it washes over you

i am sorry
will i be what i must be tomorrow? the next day?
good chance i won't
sorry team

but there is only one way to get where i am going and i am walking that way and the distractions are the attractions

that last one was a little corny

i mean it rhymes, what am i mother goose?
whatever man

let's talk about this past friday.
it was a little heartbreaking.

friday, not saturday. saturday was fine.

friday i was supposed to see my friend from california but couldn't get her out of the house for reasons that were beyond our control as much as anything like that can be beyond one's control which is in fact not beyond their control but still beyond their control.

i just ate two of her cookies and i still have bits of them in the sockets where my wisdom teeth are going to be.

fuck.

saturday i was at a bar with the girl i've been hanging out with and two of my exes. one of them is cool. the other is cool too, just very far. and that is a distance i put there and i did extend an olive branch by way of facebook message the next day (lame) to no avail. that's fine. i'll take that. that is life. the face of the world changes with an earthquake and two neighboring townships stare eachother down from across a gorge with bridges dangling like untied shoelaces from their cliffs never to be repaired.

what really bothered me about friday was going back to a party people started bailing on because i couldn't produce the guest of honor. my parties aren't really parties anyway. they're more like gettogethers. soirees. mixers? i have fun and that's what matters, but my cup is small and fills easily.

the face of the world is still changing. an earthquake took my friend from farmingville to berkeley. there was the hope she would be around for a night to be happy with people she calls or called friends and that was taken from us. it was an outrage. it is an outrage still.

are you listening you incorporeal son of a bitch? i am shaking you by your white gown and showing you my teeth. i am angry with you. you are not my god. you are a charlatan. i have moved on to a land without you where there is no cruelty only chaos. i have been here for years but i still feel your presence swapping chess pieces replacing my knights with pawns and moving my king out in the open and i am now playing my part in your death by ignoring you.

it could be worse.

write that on my cardboard headstone and toss me into the ocean for the fishes to eat or to be swallowed by a great whale.

sometimes, this is too much.

iced vanilla soy latte

drink it too slow it's watery
drink it too fast it's gone too quick
sip evenly with breaths between
the venti always makes me sick
iced vsl is just the drink
to teach me not to overthink

journal entry : whatever

when it's time to get the fish out of the fishbowl they all scatter. that's what writing is like for me, the silly pet shop employee and the kid who wants a particular fish. that's what writing is like for me.

i'm of the solemn opinion that there is no point in doing anything beyond food\clothing\shelter. i can't force myself to look for a better job because i do not care. i do not. i care when it looks like i'm running out of money and my car starts acting weird, but i just do not care in all other instances.

i wanted to be an artist, i wanted to write, i wanted writing to be my art. but what's the point? i can't help but think of anything in terms of anything but its eventual commodification. that's a word for pretentious people, but here we are. you could write the great american novel and it could languish in obscurity for years like moby dick. you could paint starry night and wind up selling it at a yard sale for $11 and it could get torn in a stranger's back seat.

not that i want fame and fortune, i just want to know i can focus my efforts into something and have those efforts come to something. not fame or fortune, but maybe a bowl of food on my table? maybe some new rear brakes and an oil change? not likely.

but what's the point of thinking like that?

it's time to enter a bubble where everything i do is for me and those i care about. i don't want to help people, i don't want to paint a picture of how i see the world, i don't want to write a book full of dumb opinions on other people i've judged prematurely.

i've got a pretty bad case of the whatevers.

whatever.

this year there have been words i have wanted to say but knew no good would come of it so i have swallowed them back down and now they haunt my stomach.

there are people that regret the things they do or say and there are people that regret the things they don't do or say. you spend enough time being one and you start acting like the other. that's ok.

people don't change, they just act different