Sum 41’s
“Fat Lip” plays on the radio I’m in an Uber leaving the hospital after getting six stitches in my head I remember an old friend telling me every time he hears this song on the radio he thinks of me I’m 36 now When I was 16, maybe then it was cool Who said an adult can’t be reckless anymore? even though now it’s just pathetic I’m pathetic
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I am listening to Gang of Four right now. The college I went to, I chose only because the drummer of Gang of Four taught there. I didn’t like Gang of Four much at the time; they were not fast & aggressive enough to hook my ADD-riddled mind. I sat in the intake and the woman I met with could tell I listened to Punk rock. She asked me if I knew Gang of Four. I said yes. She told me the drummer taught here. Right away I was onboard. At this college is where I had met Andrew, who later became the guitarist of my old band, Lethal Erection. I went to this college for three weeks before I dropped out. Andrew went four. It was only a mere detour in my life, but a very important detour because this is where I met my best friend. I wonder about the choices we make, the reason we make these choices, our motivations and whatnot. If that woman had never told me the drummer of Gang of Four taught there, I would have gone a different way. My band had recently broken up and there was this Indian guy named Rohan who had answered my Craig’s List ad about needing a new guitarist. Rohan and I hung out a bit; he took me to this party where artsy kids drank keg cups and talked about existentialism. It was quite boring for me; I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to live—I wanted adventure excitement & romance. Rohan showed me this band called Gang of Four but I didn’t really like them very much; but now I knew who they were and when I went to that intake, the woman asked me if I knew Gang of Four and I said yes and I chose to go to that school, where I met Andrew and we stuck together like glue….
I get a phone call. It’s my friend.
He tells me he’s got a hexagon he needs to get rid of. Meet him at Walmart in 15 minutes. He’s selling it to me for a discounted price. I could never make it there in 15 minutes, I tell him. You have to, he says. Or the deal is off. Ride your bike, he suggests. My bike? Do you know how cold it is outside? I don’t care. 15 minutes. No later/// I hurriedly throw on my jacket my hat my gloves go outside and lunge onto the bike seat slam the pedals standing and pumping as fast as I can/ I turn go straight turn go straight faster faster faster. It’s a race against time. It’s the middle of the night. Cars shoot past in blurred lines. I gotta go faster and faster. Cars whizz past me. I cross the street and I get hit by a car\\\ I go flying over the handlebars. Hit the ground. Because of my jacket I stay mostly unscathed. Hop back on the bike and go >>> A man says: Are you okay? I ignore him. You got hit pretty hard. I slam the bike into gear and start forward when the man says: He stopped||| Pointing at the guy who had hit me. He stopped to see if you’re okay. This is a nightmare. I don’t care about this. Are you okay? I tell them both that I’m good. I gotta go. I’m in a rush. They watch me as I hurry past them. I don’t look both ways when I cross the street. My friend says that was a close one. He was just about to leave. He was going to give someone else the deal. Sorry, dude. I got hit by a car. Took me by surprise. He sells me the hexagon and I smile. In Harvard Square
we drink beer and whiskey I wander in&out of my own special realm I have music that shoves a nasty spike into the veins of life She loses her shoes All night she walks around without shoes The two of them flirt at the back of the train I tell the girl to come to New York City with me and my friend next weekend She’s younger than me by a few years I think I’m in love with this new face or maybe she tells me no I say whatever I’ll find someone else to go The two of them are still at the back of the train flirting like this is the best place to be I forget this girl I can’t remember her name The train shudders I swagger to the exit Step down and fall through the ground I see through the void the train driver staring down at me The doors shut and all the passengers watch as I lie there mangled I pull myself up too sick to cry The next morning I feel so much pain like my skin had been torn off and what’s left is blood & bones my veins pumping on overdrive I always wonder what life would be like if I took my future more seriously. I’m a capable person. I always showed promise in everything I’d ever done. But now, at 36 years old, I have no marketable traits. I’m a writer, and a half-assed musician—kind of ___ it’s a long story. I thought I had no future. Isn’t it so much easier to think you have no future before the future comes? 36 years of fucking up and what do I have to show for it? 36 fuckin years! I have paper, and I have a pen. But that’s it. Nothing else. No priors whatsoever. No promise. Do you remember when the future used to be better? Brighter. Bigger. Whatever. It was the drugs, the booze, the depression, the nihilism, the existential angst, you know. The fuck all! I can write a story about wasting away like it’s no one’s business but my own. Then what do I do? I set the pages on fire because I have no future and there’s no use in trying. No one buys my books. I wrote created & designed these books myself because I had fuck all else to do, and no one cares. So if I were to write a note to myself five years in the future, I’d say one thing: Remember when the future used to be better? But then I’d set the page on fire because there’s no point; I don’t have a future, I never did…. Do your homework. Study. Set goals. Do something. I smoked my homework, and I shot my goals. The future only gets better if you plan for it. But I don’t see the use in preparing for it if it doesn’t get better. This is what I told myself 10-15 years ago: Nothing ever gets better, it either stays the same or gets worse. Future Self, if you’re reading this, just know, you’re a fuckin idiot for believing me!
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