Disastrous conclusions
drawn from silly confusions/
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Black moon
Thunder & Gloom I find salvation inside the panic room Watch me walk tonight through the waning lights When the bullets come raining down I won’t stop my plight Thirsty for adventure Hungry for disaster Falling bricks are the sounds of my rotten anthem Find me in a pit of glory a place beaming with fury Find me deep in the depth succumbing to worries 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 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!
the day I turned 19
they wanted to beat me up said I narced out their friend the whole gang was there wanted to beat me up I stood my ground in my pocket I had an eight-ball I got on the train met Mindy took her to my place we lay around got drunk the following day Andrew picked me up we drove out to the Cape picked up Samantha went camping the drive was a blast never laughed so hard I didn’t know him too well we hit it off from the start ever since the day he tried to hit me with his truck on my 20th birthday a fat black chick bought me a 40 I laid her down by the river I hit a car in a rainstorm couldn’t see Ryan and Bell were there the Indians got out left their car in the center of the street six of them got out yelled but nothing happened there was no damage I parked at my place we all went to Harvard Square one year in Rutland someone gave me a cake but I only had me to share it with as I rode in the trunk of a car back to Rutland I rubbed frosting all over the interior I was so pissed then threw empty Monster cans out the window tomorrow I turn 36 I’m getting a new tattoo THE LIFE I LIVE THE CHOICES I CHOOSE closing the book on a chapter after Lethal Erection went flaccid Andrew died I got married everything’s different now when I turned 18 the Dilweed Elite played in my backyard my closest friends were there we sat around ate cake the cops came the music was too loud disturbed the neighbors Pat, Kyle, Mumbles, & Jeremy stopped by we all got covered in cake Walking through
a sea of emptiness my heart beats feverishly as I shake hands with another failure I scour the sewage for an ounce of truth but the crazed clouds open fire upon my head Set fire to another dumpster where the answers lay barren The reasons for persevering are beyond me Bland smiles find me Eyes like voids peer through the dark Tendons like phony vessels rip the truth from the sky The flaming wreckage of the edge of life’s refugees pulls me into a crater The basis of rhetorical theories brought me to life again Scatological nothingness A futile solution Delusions make me feel worthy of being |
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