s8

I feel so bad.  I’m taking a trip through all my most recent failures so of course it’s taking quite some time.  Instead I should have walked with you through your fanfare.  I need to drink a glass of water.  Crude red over the mountains; they do, more than people realize.  Ah, falling back into place again.  When did it start?  Not so long ago.  Searching and the jackal for real this time the real jackal and later on the fruitless search (at least he could resist that) for the jackal who is not the jackal.  Nothing really matter I suppose.  Hahaha, I laugh to myself.  I’m such a worthless failure.  Time and again I tell myself….  It’s either all an accident or all fate.  I was an accident. 

I feel so awful inside.  Everything good about me – what little there was – is rotting away.  Of course, no one else is to blame but myself.  I walked away and felt horrible.  That’s not…whatever.  Can’t think of anything.  I gotta buy a book.  I gotta eat at some point.  Everything feels awful and pointless.  No one’s fault but my own.  My fingers hurt.  Water and pigs.  On the way home, always crashing, I’m tired now so I need to drink something to wake me up.  I don’t care about any of this.  I sort of like this grey area I’m floating in.  I’ll probably drink later.  Nothing really matters.  Was something purple today?  I think it might have been.  Please don’t say my mine.  I could never say anything harsh.  And a little dahs of self destruction again.  I never do anything.  This is the end of everything.  One long deformed expanse of tedium and mediocrity.  A much wiser man’s toast, “here’s to a lousy life!”  hands ceasing to function, spirit in peril.  What shitty words.  I was sitting with a bunch of blue.  It takes a great deal just to open my mouth and speak.  When I started talking about the one thing I felt strange tingling in my hands.  I can’t say anything.  I don’t want to see anyone.  Why can’t everyone just leave me alone.  It doesn’t seem like that tough of a request.  But what the fuck do I know?  Now I am needy, I am a needy little bitch and I just replace one fucked up thing with another.  There is no end to my corruption.  Man, I’m useless.  I want to open my window but there’s too much fucking noise outside.  There are too many things I want to say.  I need to get some money though.  Nothing makes me feel good.  I feel torn up, I feel awful.  My stomach hurts.  Must write down on some parchment and talk about all my unimportant bullshit very soon.  Too much coffee.  I’m addicted to my sinful bullshit, man I’m a piece of shit.  It’s not disappointing because disappointment implies I was unaware.  I’ve always been aware.    

Made some comparisons but no one asked for my….  Don’t like when our needs are so obviously publicized.  I was just thinking of something beautiful.  These are beautiful moments.  It is odd to think I can exist inside a beautiful moment.  Wide naked eyes.  Robbery again.  And there is silver coming down.  Thank God for Low.  I’m always crashing….  I would have done it for now if not for.  Haha, but of course Jasmine is actually…I mentioned feeling free somewhere else.  Thanks the Lord for the entire Berlin era.  I was at a bar earlier and reading about but I was driving earlier and listening to it.  It made me feel good and worthwhile and also met me on all the levels of feeling bad. 

After the entire day I still only understood a very small amount.  I see how limited everything must be.  I realize now friendship is impossible.  Hahahaha I have become something so beloved but I am something so awful.  My bedspread is red. The curtains to my bedroom are red.  I drink heavily.  I go out to the balcony on occasion and sing a little song.  I frequently wear that mask of regret.  I’ll be driving the ambulance one day and making jokes about the dead man.  I’ll give the signal for a touchdown when we blew it all to shit!  I’ll chase after you when you run away. I am evil. This is certain.  But I still love you even though I don’t stand a fucking chance of understanding how to love. 

It may be necessary for some type of passing the buck.  Of course I would understand. I need to scour these lines for something to use.  I was somewhere else earlier and mystery was laid out before me.  I realized yet again how awful I am.  Of course, the beginning of fucking up took place in a black and white world. And then investigation, research shall we say.  And then later on I was a lovesick puppy and the easy comfort felt oh so natural and there was a woman dancing in a black dress.  There is a ray gun pointed to my head.  I need look at the proper remasterization.   

After the confessions I felt bad, drove around, listened to Bowie and other things, felt progressively worse and wanted to look at stuff, reminded me in book that it is quick fix, something that is always there for you, reliable, always works.  I wrote about it.  I also know, I do like writing and feeling creative, and I know I mentioned negative stuff often feels more real than positive stuff, I like feel creative.  Drinking numbs feeling sexually aroused.  I think I feel weird here and like sharing and then its stops and it’s like I’m thrown in a weird pool and I get used to it and then I’m thrown back out.  I am a world class jerk for most people.  Correct feelings on…Correct feelings on…

Talk about driving around and crying and saying I’m bad and going to burn in hell. 

I love you. 

Fuck it, I should just go get wasted and read The Tommyknockers again. 

On a totally unrelated noted, I love love love Prince’s 1996 album Emancipation and I have so many wonderful memories discovering and bonding and growing with this music.  Gotta get wax! And eat some cereal! With soy milk! Cause cows are for calves!