this is me.

Enjoy the pain.
Masochism is cool.

Intimacy is out of the question now. There is no way you can understand the places I have been since last we spoke. I won’t even let you try. I won’t even say a word. I’ll give anything you have to take whatever I can and find some enlightenment and some peace and some numbness that doesn’t hurt my eyes like flourescent lights in the high school class rooms where I slept off so many of my days.

I’m writing to you tonight because I am bored. Spent the week puddle jumping and hating myself for my ever-expanding career as an extremely naive individual. Go ahead and rip me off, man. Sometimes everything is just a little too scary. A little too arbitrary. When I think about it I get this unsatisfied feeling and I think I’m going to throw up, but I’ve already spilled my guts and there’s nothing left after that, is there?

I only ever wake up next to beautiful women when I accidentally fall asleep on the bus. It’s always a nice surprise. Sleep is my favorite place in the whole wide world. Freedom and mystery abound – just how it’s supposed to be –
without any of this doubt and boredom. In my dreams I maintain a focus closer and tighter than a brainwashed recruit taking apart his rifle. I chase my happiness down in the halls of my mind every night through memory and glowing love until sunrise. Hold on tight and maybe the waking up part will just never happen. The permanent dream stretched out over a few seconds of twilight in between birth and death and you and I and don’t you just feel so heavy all the time from it?  I do.

So heavy that I’m being manhandled by gravity and I can’t even stand up. My knees crack and buckle. Cartiledge soup and ground bone.

I suppose that at the end of it all, I really just wanted to say don’t be offended that I’m keeping you at arm’s length. I have to; at least for now. Stretched as far as I can with you at the very tip of my finger. I don’t hate you, I hate me. That’s why. I love you enough that I don’t want you to have anything to do with me. Does that make sense? Is that silly? I can’t help it.

All I can do is busy-bee some guitar like I’m saving rock and roll from my bedroom and extend the fantasy for another day.

How are you?