everything is/nothing is

i stood in the middle of a street with snow coming down and snow on the ground and everything is white and cold and i dont know this town and i am standing there drunk and at the end of the street, way far down, almost out of sight, i see five black long and skinny fingers stretching out like shadows over all living things. there was no body and no really hand and no really shape, just deaths black bony fingers touching everything.

a couple hours/days later i was in the same place in the same town still drunk but i was inside and there was new skin all over me. it felt good so i didnt stop it but i knew what the skin looked like on the other side. there wasnt blood and muscle there, just empty lines drawn in pencil. i couldnt say a whole lot and faces that from the tall and ugly past kept staring at me from the other side of the bedroom. they didnt judge me because they knew they didnt have to. i already knew.

a couple hours/years later i run back outside to see if the fingers of death/truth are still spreading out over our humble country side, but this time its just shadows of people walking home from bars. i bummed a cigarette off one of them that walked by. he gave one to me and i asked for a light as well. he pulled out a lighter and flicked it and pushed it towards my face by i grabbed it out of his hand and told him that i light my own cigarettes, thank you very much. i light it and give him back the lighter and he looks at me like i am an asshole and walks away. sorry dude i got my rules, ya know?

when you go through things and grow up and see through the other side of the tunnel, events that would of been a life impacting soulful happening are just another weekend, another thing that happened. when are really young and artful/stupid you try to make everything out to be like the movie garden state. every time you stand out in the rain or kiss a new girl or run across the street drunk or whatever idiot fucking thing you do, you make it something important, a big golden bookmark on your journey to make your life a wes anderson movie.

then you see past it. all of these things turn into nothing but what they are. you just standing in the fucking rain getting wet. that girl you kissed, well, big deal, everyone kisses everyone else. and your lucky you didnt get run the fuck over. these moments are big golden nothings, statues of you being a moron. you see other younger people running free and living their own indie movie and you are standing there smoking a bummed cigarette with rage and hate in your eyes and bitterness in your blood, who is the problem? well its them, duh, it is so them. i dont want it. i want it killed.

the weekend is over and your friends are gone and you are alone and fucking up. good job.

in the morning a cloud unease and doubt was grey and hanging over the city like a solemn ghost of judgement. there were a few people in the city that saw it but most people were too hung over and in love or alone to pay attention. but i saw the motherfucker. i saw it and i knew what it meant. time to leave. bad things are coming and no one knows about it and even if you sat down and tried to let them in they would look at you like you are just some crazy melodramatic freak. so i say i want them to burn. fuck em. they should of known better. they should of not followed zach braff. all they would of had to of done is look up, or look down their street. it was all there, and it was big and visible.

i wont feel sorry for them. in fact, i hope that i get a few seconds before the fingers take me, i hope i get a few seconds to watch all of the stupid ass drones get theirs before i get mine. that would be the perfect finale for me. i want to see them all get it. and dont get me wrong, i will get it too. i will get it worse then most, but if i can just make sure that everyone was a fucking accessory after the fact.















but there are sweet things out there. sweet innocent people and ideas that are untainted by the misery and anchors that keep me floating at the bottom of the deep blue. they work hard and do good and they dont lie and they dont fuck people over. they like good art and they like good people. my bitter side would call them naive because they are not bathing and dining in the misery buffet that i call the truth, but who is winning that battle? who goes to sleep at night without a problem?

the good is out there and i hate to admit it. no matter what happens, these people are quiet in their dignity. they dont do anything to make a point or to look like a good person. they are what the are the same way i am what i am.

so is that the fight? is that what there is to defend? they dont need it, there is not fight for them. wake up and do what you have to do, keep moving a couple paces on the board even though you dont know what you are doing, keep moving and treat people good and try to carve something out of the fat chunk that is this bitch of a life, crave something good and successful for them selves. there is no fight. its love and moving forward. idiots or the good guys? the enemy or the answer?

die and get done with it. live and get done with it.