I take society's rules and fuck them just like I will you after some moderately priced white wine at Applebee's. I'll take you there and wow you about sports only seen on ESPN3 and quote the more obscure Will Ferrell oeuvre. Some people search for that spark, well baby I'm the Chicago Fire, shrouded in mystery and out of control for a while. Just call me Trailer Park and Ride.
Saying that you are mourning yourself, your life, your decisions, seems almost like a ridiculous summary of a derivative film at this point. The polarity of death and life; a meaningful life outside of financial responsibility and on to the more tenuous and ambiguous nature of good or spiritual depth begins to seem like a folie a deux between a person and their fictional creator. To say you are only close to someone when you are hundreds of miles away lends a certain adolescent romance to our rapidly expanding remembrance of things distorted. And I dont know what else to expect from myself, a mere spectator in a deteriorating locale, the lone tourist in a burning building. A sense of urgency has never been a virtue of mine. I let things marinate until I am ready to discard or immolate them. The people I care about seem further and further away on this fanciful desert island of correspondence. This life of mere adequacy peppered with the unstable and the unattainable serves for a skewed road map to a destination I am not sure I want to visit, let alone surpass. I just want something to fill the years instead of quicksand and bursts of clarity before a stupor takes over and I forget everything I used to want.
