I know you hate me too. You always say you do.
June 8, 2013 § 1 Comment
“Who knew a troubled person could be creative?” – Bart Simpson
I am amazing. I am a man. I am that curious cocktail of contradiction. I want everything and nothing all at once. I want the feelings without the fear. The highs with out the lows. The blissful adrenaline ups without the back down black of free fall. I want it all, so fucking give to me, take it away, run me around in circles, lock me up in a dark room for a year, I won’t want to be bothered, wake me when it’s time to do this all over again. I want to sleep and I want to stay up. I want to taste it but I don’t want it to hurt. I am everything that’s wrong and everything that’s right with being young, with being old! With being human. I want to dance but I don’t want anyone to see. I want something to fight for but I don’t want to have to fight for it. I want to spill blood but I don’t want to get up close. I want to be on stage but I don’t want to work for it. I want to drink but I don’t want to be hungover. I want to be in love without getting hurt. I want to brave with no risk. I want to be plastic and bright and fickle and shine and easy and breeze through conversations and people. I want, I want, I want. So give it to me. Because I’m not going to take it. Give it to me. Pass it over, quiet and slick, just slide it on across the table to me. Quickly now. Snap, snap.
That’s our problem, don’t you think? Maybe. If you don’t, if you don’t think that is, than that all must have seemed crazy. No more crazy than the last 30,000 words but hey, you’re still here aren’t you? I’m in a spin. A dark spin I feel. It rushes around in me, it’s all heavy drums and electric guitars in the dark. The wind in my hair, the blood holding on inside my veins, holding on and waiting for this madness to pass. My brain putting pen to paper on exactly how long it can put up with this and what it is planning to punish me with when I wake. I know how that one goes. I’ve been on the receiving end a few times now. It kicks to the head and it’s spitting up blood. It beats being bored. Beats the hell out being boring.