hey. sup?

Ever stare into the distance and realize whatever goal has been set is as far away as ever? 

scratch that. not in the mood.

I used to love riding my bike. Never understood how so many Miles in a bike kept me so fat as a kid. But I loved that feeling.

Stephen King gave life to it in It. Bill is racing down the hill on Silver, baseball cards in the spokes. Speed and no repercussions. Perfection.

like falling in love. 

sappy ass mother fucker right here. 

Been talking slam poetry and sharing words this evening. nice way to spend the night. 

I feel weird. not strange but odd. mentally on another plane. been this way for a few days. almost a mid point between manic and down. maybe this is me right here. 

fuck.

I want to mess with the normal conventions. speak in an accent all day and not acknowledge it tomorrow. dance with headphones in and let the world imagine the music.

the key is there is no music. it is just the groove. 

I see the ups and downs I go through. read about them in more lucid times. recognize the mental illness. but it is me. always has been. highs and lows of tragic means. I bring the bad on to myself and then fight climb out.

on repeat.

But I would not change it. not for anything. it allows me to think slightly to the left. to zig when you expected a zag. to make you laugh and go home and cry myself to sleep. 

You have inner crazy too. it is you. and you are fucking breath taking. embrace it. laugh with strangers and watch the same movie for the millionth time while crying into your ice cream.

it is what life is. I think. fucked if I know. I barely scramble by. but i am having a fucking blast. except when I am not. which happens. 

I like awkward silences. think they are fucking hilarious. especially when I cause them. and grin like a fucking idiot. 

I like ugly things that have their own beauty. Llamas over alpacas. sour over sweet. passion over routine. cous cous over rice. 

and I like you. a bunch. you fucking rule and I will bitch slap anyone who says different.