Too much of nothing gets you...October 14, 2010 (6:41am)

       When does it begin, the decline? Is it when you're born? Is there a structure of life where good becomes better and best out ranks all, until you lower yourself toward death? Is it slow rise, slow rise; reach-reach, accomplish, then: fall, falling, failing, flattened, failed? Not a test, a pop quiz, a chance to live or the best chance to die; to end? Fuck, I'm not looking for answers, you eager-to-answer twit, I'll live what I have left to live then glance at my notes to prove that I did.
      Pardon the gap; excuse the space...this place has me confined and determined to pace. The mind is tricky, but trickier to ourselves...to ourselves? We share with others, selectively, and not...to some degree: I'm what I show to you, 1/4 to her; less to him, less always of me.
       I don't know anymore, no really sure I ever did, but quitting is easy sometimes, but harder some other times as well. Staying with quitting is like staying with not quitting, that's really annoying. Expecting what one expects of another depending on what you've let them expect...not unexpected, but left to...

        Excuse the gap; pardon the space...its hard to think clearly when the mind continues the race.

(My possible fiction)-

"I am Not"

The monster I am, the monster I am; this is part of the monster I am.

 It’s not quiet in here, it never is. There’s a peaking of an idea; the scream of a dream, the blinding memories trying to escape, but none ever find a way out. What was the name of that girl I kicked out of my house two years ago for calling me a cry baby? I was so drunk I really didn’t even know she was there, until…

“Thank you for choosing Captain’s, how are you today?” Disgusted and afraid, because you’re a stranger, I don’t like strangers and here I am going through another spike in my darkness. I’m thinking about doing that one thing you can only do once and no one forgives you for doing. I think I’m not going to be able to pay my rent on time again and…

“I’m fine. Can I get a number one with lemonade please?” How have I made it this far? Why did I make it this far? I haven’t done enough good to deserve this extended life. Possibly, life is your punishment and not a gift. That girl crossing the parking lot is fucking hot!

“Will that be all for you today?” Why don’t I ever have my wallet ready? I’m going to have to lift my ass, release my foot off the break, hold the money and steer the car to the first window and if I don’t do it quick enough I’ll start panicking because I’m not that guy that holds up lines. I should be more prepared. This is ridiculous, I have to shit. Only one more day of work (you don’t work), its work.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Six dollars and 30 cents at the first window, please.” I wonder if she’s a pet owner, the girl working the window, I bet she is. She’ll cry when her beagle dies, but is that worse off than someone who neglects an animal and feels nothing. Comparatively, there is more to lose being compassionate than there is being apathetic (this is a tired thought), I’ll stop then. “Hi, six-thirty,” christ I never park close enough to that window, it’s about as far away as the life I’d prefer to have. “Here you go, have a nice day.” Don’t drop my change, don’t drop my change, don’t drop my change. I can turn the music back up. Two factors that never happen simultaneously: the cute window server and them noticing that you’re listening to Soft Bulletin. You’ll sometime get one part of that equation and then she won’t notice the music and this isn’t the place for such come-ons and nonsense. Food; drive away, I wonder if I’ll still wanna jerk off as bad as I do right now? The music should be turned up louder; I don’t need it, but I’ll smoke a cigarette."

Samples always taste better in twos

-xkp