With every passing minute I’m reminded that nothing makes me feel young again. Nothing is fun and everything gets old very fast. Me included, fads and every new thing written. Complacency is the period to our sentence in laziness and somehow women still want babies. Girls still want attention for more than their pictures but their biographies call them “bad bitches”. I wonder sometimes if they’re your sister while we gawk at pass-byers, mock some high-risers for wearing pants at small sizes then complain we don’t have enough to buy a next pack of smokes. So who provokes laughter and who is the joke?
Do you remember excitement and the adrenaline age? 15 or 16 on minimum wage and maximum sex, make outs and movies and relaxing and laughter? Maybe that was our life, this is the bittersweet hereafter, the neatly tucked linens and loosely fucked women and dudes who don’t show compassion because men are indifferent and being different is no longer cool.
I’m very disturbed. I’m disrupted by racket, noise from the street, people who seem to have fun and etcetera. Life could really get no more medium. No more luke warm torn in a goldilocks tale. And with age my bones just get that much frailer. Skin that much more pale and beer that much more needed. I’d have a goal if I knew I could just somehow exceed it but I once shot for a star and murdered an angel. And hell rained down on me hail as her halo.
I don’t mean to be cold but I’m done being cool or even remotely considered as either of the two since I’m so warm blooded I sweat bullets when touched. The delusional perception is that a wheelchair is the lazy mans crutch but both are a lot harder than walking or lifts. I’m the only one at the bar who declines when he’s offered advice or some tips and I still refuse to leave any of the three.
Maybe in time this all gets easy. And I’m already tired of writing this shit.