can you can you not

can you fucking believe I’m going to be twenty one? never a time did I assume I’d be standing on the edge of childhoodorwhatever half drunk but mostly high on E, waiting for something to happen or nothing to continue.

I’ll bring the drugs and you come along for company.

I’m fucking every aspect of my life into an awkward sexual position and I still can’t seem to cum. but rest assured on the twenty first of this month I’ll be drunk in vegas, spitting out promises I can’t keep and picking a fight with the craps dealer.

introspection continues though my writing has turned into shitty shitty shitty all over again. when I collage I cant think straight and when I sit to write I cant type right and when I see something in my head I cant quite get it out like I used to.

not all is lost, I promise you that. drunk or not I’ll float into adulthood with a pissy attitude and notmuch to show. I’ll order a vodka gimlet and another and another and I’ll forget that nothing I do really means much anymore. if school is the only paramount, goal setting venture then fuckeverything cause I need options.

maybe at my age you’ll have an internship on a film set or big concert at a small town arena or maybe you’ll be a year away from your bacholers in registered nursing but I’m right fucking here. still on tee oh dee in a city with no winter and an apartment with no windows.

if God was real, palatable, and could save me now, I’d ask him with all sincerety, “make me great”. and it wouldn’t happen cause even if god were real, palatable and could save people, he wouldn’t save me, cause I probably dont want it as much as someone else.

or, maybe sometimes I do.

if when I was a kid on my first edition apple lap top computer, writing preteen erotica and satirical interenet conversations, I never thought I’d still be in the desert at twenty one, awaiting bars and strippers to soothe my self loathing safely into my twenty first year, I probably thought so blindly and naivly that I’d be in a loft in new york, hanging out with stephen king and talking shit about john grisham. I probably thought I’d be in canada, married to a guy in a band and touring the country on a bus, traveling in search of coolshit. I probably thought I’d be single and real fucking alive, like that kid in that cameron crowe movie or those bas ass chicks you see at antiwar rallies. I bet then, hacking away at the keys, I thought I’d be gone. in every sense of the word.

but I am here. the same as I was there. hacking away at the keys waiting for something different.

your a megastar thats who you are thats who you are.

work sucks but not as hard as your mom. I started wearing my hair in pig tails and doing Ecstacy a lot. went to a rave, kissed a lot of people. feel confident and hot sometimes, dykey chicks like my jacket, the black one with the band buttons on it. friends started DJaying, some of their shit is really good. now I can say, “no, no, you don’t understand I am a friend of the DJ’s”, which is really all I wanted out of life.

Sorry for the break- I guess I forgot about my priorities.