this is a really cool posting, check it out.
Here i sit. I think my chair has memorized my ass. I awoke at 5:45 in the morning. Arrived at work quite early. At it's 9 pm now. Still at the office. There's really no point for me to be here. Nothing for me to do. But I still have to be here. There's not much juice left in the brain at this time. I'm missing a party at Monroe's Bar right now. That juice sounds good. I've read every new news article I can. I've changed every single address to our new one. Searched site after site for cheap furniture. Opened up a script I've started, only to close it back up again, many, many times. I'm trying to think of happy thoughts, things to take me away from here. But those only tend to frustrate. The true prison. I do have a Red Bull sitting on my desk, with a good shot of vodka hidden inside of it. I sold my motorcycle the other day. Brent's old bike. So guy named Mike bought it. He looked a little like Jesus. Long hair and all. I learned a lot from that bike...how to ride, how to work on bikes, and that my next bike will be a brand new one that doesn't need work and I can just ride it at leisure. I like to start new, fresh. Like having a clean slate with things.
Jesse and Robyn helped me move into the new place in Pasadena yesterday. It was the first time I had seen him since his wedding. Friends are good. Jesse and Robyn, I salute you for helping me.
I wish i had some witty thoughts or interesting ideas to talk about, but I don't. I don't have any interesting sites to post or funny pictures. No new movies to discuss or bands to speak of. I keep hearing my drunk(slightly) aunt from Texas, while at my other's Aunt's 3rd wedding a few weeks back...."alan, life is not a dress rehearsal. You're an actor type, you know what I mean. Life is not a dress rehearsal."
And I think I should leave it at that, what do you say...
6 Comments:
break a leg
i want a motorcycle. life is not a motorcycle you can ride at leisure. life is a broken dream you have to keep fixing, and then you crash into a fence post, and then you die.
i don't think a fence post would be so lethal. might break some bones, puncture a lung or something. to compare life to a motorcycle seems a bit off. life, we do have to work on. but a bike shouldn't have to be that way. it should be....enjoyable. like flying a kite, or skipping stones in a quiet pond behind the barn. or tossing the old pig skin around on a cool autumn eve, like a flag waving on some marble arch...but life is not a victory march, it's a cold and broken hallelujah. it's not a cry you can hear at night, and it's not somebody who has seen the light. it's a cold and broken hallelujah. and so with that....touche.
serene and potentially quite nice... a motorcycle can bring a blissful freedom... Until it starts raining and you find your leg rapt around the fence post, crying all alone. you gather yourself, find the strength to get up and walk to the emergency phone only to find no phone... shattered dreams and a broken hallelujah, sounds like life to me.
heres to the broken hallelujah... dodging and weaving, creating solutions, failing, and coming up with new ones...
I love this idea of creating solutions. It's such a depthful insight. It's the idea of living life to "mickey mouse" fix things. Never settling or even searching for an answer at great length. Being impatient and duct taping our life so it doesn't leak or fall off. Crashing and instead of calling the insurance or police, we examine the wreckage and think to ourselves, "I know a guy that could fix this for cheaper than my deductible." You get what you pay for my friends. A shitty fix, a crappy bike, a broken hallelujah indeed.
the idea that life was made into a cereal is brilliant. just brilliant. and we are a culture of problem solvers...problem creators so that we can solve them. break and fix, break and fix. a story on the news a few nights ago...two whole streets of cars were vandalized with their windows being shot out with a pellet gun. local window repair man says it's a travesty, but business should be good for him. 10 bucks says he shot them out himself. quick fixes. a smoke, a joke, sticky gum on a broken bycicle spoke...and where do we go from there?new cars, nicer furniture, better jobs, more pieces falling into the puzzle...and the poetry is gone. it's like the day the music died and God himself is on his way to the west coast. and drew really wants a motorcycle. you'll shoot your eye out drew.
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