Wednesday, May 2, 2012

your ex-lover is dead

VODKA POST: some nights i want to kneel down, firmly plant my right foot into the ground, and push down hard with all my might in hopes that i may rocket into the night sky, see the ground below me slowly begin to lose detail, then slightly start curving around the edges into a large ball, let the clouds overtake me, let the silence surround me, and finally, see the blue sphere that is earth float in front of me. and with the stars around me like an audience and the sun to my left as the spotlight, i could simply will time to stop. then id reach down with my monstrous hands and use my nimble fingers to grab everyone who is in the wrong place... everyone who is with the wrong person... everyone whos not getting what they deserve... or not deserving what they get... and rearrange the world as easy as if they were lego pieces. and i would set everything right. i wish i could be the master of the maligned. i wish my thoughts wouldnt so often consist of suicide and debating the differences between curiosity and consideration. i wish i could remember a dream. i wish i could do what one does to obtain one. but a bullet couldnt put me to sleep tonight. is it a bad thing to let the stories go by? is it a shameful deed to concede to the greater character in us, in the story, in the scene? is there fault in being cryptic and enigmatic to the point of licking the line between genius and delirium? i find no harm in expressing the unexpressable through a series of failed typed thoughts and quotes. hell, im doing it now. everything life is about revolves around love and the occasional lack thereof; so in essence, does it become larger and bigger than love? does a fish ever think about water? how often do you think about gravity, other than those moments your heart hits the ground? when did "less is more" turn to nothing? in other news, this morning i mistook the palmolive bottle for the syrup bottle and completely ruined my eggo waffles.

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