Me and Some Guys Talkin in My Head
I walked along and thought of what my life might be if I had not met anyone I know. I thought about weird God given abilities that I have and how they have been corrupted or mutated and what I have been given to replace them (booze, jokes, synicism and awful women) Is it environment or is it biological? Is my life the same now that it would have always been had it been lived a million times over? No fucking way. So a few things to say to Leonard Jones or Robinson Hanger. There are a few things I want to say to you and your kind. You're looking down your pointy nose at my kind.
"Yes I have failed."
"No, I don't want back on track."
"Yes, I do want to fuck your sister. But, no, I don't want anyone in my life whom I don't respect or become challenged by."
And there it was, "Challenged". That is the magic bullet word that I was looking for. This is the beaming light word that separates me from me. Drugs anyone?
When was the last time I was challenged? When was the last time I was awed or moved or cared about the conversation enough to just sit there and listen and not even want to be heard? When was the last time for that? To be honest - it happened a couple times in the last 5 years. These thirst absent moment always with the same people and always the same tone. This was before I drank, before I slummed, before I cowered into a hole of an office only to beg for a job that I sincerely felt awkward at.
Specific times, specific venues are irrelevant but the feeling of respect and awe doesn't enter me any more. I have no shame being an ass in front of most people. I have no shame raising my voice or insulting most people. I have no shame in my ego. What does this mean? Oh who the fuck knows. I know one thing. I'm a joke. I'm a walking punchline these days. I always was to an extent. Take yourself too seriously when you aren't meant to be that awesome and what do you get, well you get a joke. lol...
Challenged? Laugh, oh how I laugh at that word now that it has disappeared. Apathetic girl lusting and unwavering deliveries of my affection to people who I dont EVEN KNOW. JESUS CHRIST MARTIN VAN BEUREN! Oh fuckin Scooby Doo. I mean, 5 years ago. That's what I am shooting for now. I am shooting for 5 years ago. I'm here to strive for challenge I guess. Instead I just settle for what I once had no intention of being a part of. Stories? Kindred nothing. Bar talk, whores, and cheap cattle parading along forcing me to talk about sports or cars or stocks or whatever the fuck it is they talk about. Forcing me to care about music. MUSIC for God's sake is not for us (as if us were something I am using to define me and you the reader). It has nothing to do with you and I. It is mine and not yours. You don't get to share with me. You don't get to share because you don't challenge me to give you something new. You don't want something new. You want something you understand. You want to be 9.
Pulling your dead weight along is like having to answer a thousand inane questions posed by children bleeding from the eyes and nailed to a cross.
YOU YOU YOU YOU YOU! Oh go fast. Oh go eat. Oh get confused again and want to jump in to your bed and lay there and play poker and mastrubate to asian porn. Wait - that wasn't me. Clown mask Bret doth he was speaking of. I know not any such man. OPHELIA! Come lay down on glass for me! Now!
I like being angry. I'm good at it. I feel alive when I'm off tilt. I'm best when I am angry. I'm best when I'm on edge. Nice Bret is awful. Ain't that so Scott Winkle? Ain't that fucking so....?