Clichés can’t save me here. Nothing can cushion my fall at this point. I’m juggling too much too slowly. I am respected by people who by no means should. I’m a fraud- a fake, my words are just ooze from a swamp of lies. I’m at a loss as of late, and know no remedy. The rubber faces of co-workers that stretch high and long make me sick. They aren’t real, no one is that happy about being here. I read my acquaintances’ accounts of war and murder as I pick scabs or blow my snot into a napkin. I am nowhere near that...I never wanted to be. But I feel like maybe the experience would open up and swallow my time if I was out murdering or patching up the wounded. At least I’d feel like my job had some worth. Like I could stab the world in the heart and get a medal for it. I can’t even call myself a writer…I don’t write and when I do I can’t stand the sight of it. No rhyme or reason. No pre-writes or treatments written and I feel like the readers know it. So sad. If you could crawl in my brain space it would toss you like a broken rollercoaster, you’d vomit and catch your breath, look up at me- the grinning carnie of it all- and say, “What the fuck is the matter with you?”
My face hurts. That damned dentist numbed me up with his weaker-than-water needle poison. Pumped it right into my gums and told me to expect pressure. I expected torture and that’s what I got. My face fucking hurts. I feel as if a walrus head-butted me and I can’t feel it yet because the impact caused me to use a jelly fish as a pillow. Very nautacal I know, but what's a Seaman going to do. The sting will come sooner or later. This is so pathetic. This paragraph or two is merely self-pity (if you couldn’t tell) my conscience is beating me over the head for not writing not sharing my thoughts and feelings with the world. As if I’m fucking special…yeah right. What a misnomer, why the fuck do humans think so highly of themselves? It’s a ruse to keep us busy- a goddamned poison. They’ll put it in the water soon. Then every white trash piece of shit will think they can sing, write, draw, entertain; then again, look at fucking television, anyone can be entertaining, even a coked up junky with botox lips. Ouch that made my face hurt. Goddamned dentist, and his needles that belong in a fucking Kubrick film. Refracting light into my eyes and causing immediate sweaty fear. My face hurts. I hope your fucking eyes hurt.