Sunday, September 11, 2005

10/6/6 PM
Crying kids, I hit the skids, going home for more of the same, stinking, drinking, myself to blame, must wash up or the criers will know, still staunch beerflow, for fuck’s sake. I’ll be miserable again tomorrow. 5:15 was the last smoke, no joke, this time I mean it 5:15 tomorrow I will have done weights, he hesitates, does the math 36 hourse after last cigarette I must do 8 miles. I bet it will hurt. Revert, to the healthy lifestyle, knowing smile. Is it really, my hip hurts already.
I hate people, sheeple, steeple, the ubiquitous homogeneity, lack of spontaneity – of one class. The disgusting needyness of the rest, a long never-ending pest. Dull or annoying. Aloof or annoying. Obvious all. I am them, though, with this fall. Whatever perceived brilliance, whatever chemical deviation, I approach now the norm of the nation. Despicably average. Bradd Lidge, Billy Wagner, Eric Gagne – closers. Posers are all around me, or worse, those that are actually what they seem. I’m getting drunk writing sloppily and thinking mean. Whatever.
I grow the corpulent jowls of those around me, eyes sunken and dull, a pear-shaped body, I mull, my vanity, visual profanity, aesthetic insanity, Holmes and Hannity. Half a beer left, then a walk, a bus, a drive, a wife’s disdain, must refrain. Just don’t talk. Stop the berating by never stating, anything. There’s too much to state, my fate, I hate, this weight, of transition, I loathe the excuse but it’s no use, it happens.
Get over it. Lamictal, my sill, windows, wind blows, a still, moment, foment
Stability, ability, to deal, I feel
I feel, I feel, I feel, but is it real?
Just go away, don’t say, a thing, that ring
Is your best disguise, the rest remain unwise
As long as they believe my web you weave has
Been reviewed, approved, by someone else. Your
Wife, your life, a living CV, a resume in a word.

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