Back, but maybe forward.

Patience and exercise. Even the most embittered of youths penning anti-pop ironic odes would have a chuckle at this. The biggest birthday, rite of passage, marred by the divorce mediation of your parents. They say there is never a good time for bad news. The more complicated the emotions, the better the reunion, right? So attorneys and ugliness re-capped with TGIFriday's never-ending unhappy hours. I think Noah Baumbach is writing that screenplay. I'll see it sans hip soundtrack and see if I feel quirky or melancholy.
We all want to feel differently, if at all. The arrival, the journey, will all go on whether or not we are present. We can make it, without having it, our clothes as dark as our moods. It was summer. It was raining. Paparazzi beats assassination to the hunch. There is no finality for the future, just a lot of no return or new management.

Not much left of mediocre, as close to interesting. In vino veritas amid the porches and Spanish moss, sunshine and whiskey changing temperatures.

Which years do you consider the ratings grabber? You know, the inevitable tumble that reaffirms the obvious..

Put on a Show

Breaking news.
We never knew,
The media circus had become a study in taxonomy.
The talking heads burn down the house and then insouciantly remark about the weather.
Watch the flames.
Those who allow perception of their being to immolate themselves for an inattentive coliseum end up only so much cigarette ash banality, decorative soap.
The wheel goes round.
News at eleven.
A tombstone headline succinct.

Chronicle of a Life Lacking Momentum

The tender violence of adulthood, intersecting with the carefree destruction of youth. Hearing you talk up the virtue of the prolonged interaction as opposed to the fleeting distraction. The faith to keep looking or the enjoyment of delayed or impossible gratification, brings me back to svoermere and the pleasure principle. I hope you get it someday, and knowing you, you will. All the things you know but don't teach, the things you see but can't reach. Being clever never got you anywhere you wanted to be. Gated communities and beach side imprisonments. The waking revolution of the change of address, change of time. I used to think blood and ink were interchangeable, but permanence is determined by the medium you defile. The blurring landscape of concentrated memories. Fate in the form of bullets in a gun.

Update

I know I write abstract things here, some people don't like it so I will try to give you updates of the everyday life. In addition to the shit that you hate.
Movies:
Darjeeling Limited : I like the baggage theme. Made me want to smoke again.
Like Water for Chocolate : I love this movie and magical realism.
Holding Trevor : Low budget gay Garden State, emote please.
Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, Last Crusade : Great, ToD very racist.
Mysterious Skin(Why does Gregg Araki insist on a rape scene in all his movies?)
Crazy Love: Interesting documentary on a man who blinded his wife. With acid.
Persepolis: Beautiful animation.
Hancock : Had potential.
TV:
Dexter 1-3 : Cant decide if I hate this show or not. Dexter is great, supporting cast makes the suspension of disbelief increasingly difficult.
X-Files 1-2 : Greatest show of all time.
Music:
Jay Brannan, Sleep all summer cover by the National and St.Vincent, Lover's Spit Redux by Feist have been consistent summer jams.

Not So Ancient

You disliked me instantly,
I didnt care for you much either.
But you taught me more than honors history.
The difference between want and need,
And more importantly,
What makes you hurt and makes you bleed.
Rocking back and forth in front of the podium
I would idly think about blowing him.

You used to have the Cure

I haven't thought of you in years and yet last night there you were, wearing my sweatshirt and a smirk that I would come to associate with impending doom, drinking a large glass of wine. You were the cautionary tale, in between those I regarded with reticence and regret. In the end, you were beyond the pale, a train stop of the well worn intersection of reform or habit. I am not sure if I made the right decision. The impetus or the catalyst for reckless fleeting joy was always your call.

By the Numbers

If we are two sides of the same coin, call it in the air. See who is still talking, give it a year. If the climax is only the beginning, where does it start? The judgment and the die have been cast. Better men than I have been consumed by the madness of duality. The world forgets to scare you, you forgot to fear it. Pull the trigger, visit the grave, getting lost in the stupid adjectives of decadent music.

Hearing Eminem's Superman in a strip club, the irony is underwhelming. Seeking clarity in neon lights, imagining bar fights, the smoky room sets the scene. Thinking about love as a body count for those who are willing to lay down. Importance placed on the exchange of lives and ideas, the blood and the bodies as markers of an event. All this and wanting to expire in a liquor store, could you really ask for more? Of course, the light being preferable to the dark, but the convenience coming fast, make those 15 minutes last. I would gladly settle for something to live for rather than something to die for. If all you can give is your body to an everlasting cause, well such is your chosen epitaph. Immortality is just an advertisement for the variable choice. I would rather the time go unmarked in mediocre enjoyment, rather than a solider for the inevitable.

And such is the mind set. I have been unable to articulate this swirl of things, like the tides of constant flux. Half remembered and exaggerated meaning, based on an okay idea. Trying to make that fortune cookie chorus a narrative, and so on and so forth.

The Norwegians used to have a concept called svoermere, which meant something sweetly futile or deliciously unprofitable. I think the emphasis determines the outcome.