Wine drunk, in charge of a modern type writer, wishing it were classic and soon to fall asleep in the weary arms of a lovely night rest. This is far too late to be alive on a tuesday morning. but with the abstraction of time through movie nights and wine after dinners with the silent elder crew, who retire to the self same programs of distraction every night, we fall into a rhythm of movie watching where at least we can get the allure of foreign influence into our hearts, and the sickness of opinion, the American way, they say, of believing in the country in some superficial way... seeing the beauty of it will not forgive my feelings toward its people and the wild unsustainable habits of all... maybe it will.. maybe I will be humbled into feeling something like remorse for the self-hatred. More likely I will gang up against this normalcy, this status quo of influence, and die valiant on the charging battlefield of oblivion.
I will disappear faster than a grain of sand in a time capsule. I will pretend to sleep and rejoice when the weight is finally lost. I will escape from these bones with the marrow intact. I will seek out the new moments to excrete such jovial artisan personalities from the spinal cord, there are surgeries for such creativity. Could do something beautiful and creative but that free time is spent on relatable television shows and on the comfort of repetition. For myself the comfort of falling into the condensed theme of an intense movie. Slit open mouth. Sew his eye shut and painfully recollect all memories from which these music cues derive.
Die freely on open ground. The guilt builds and swells. Good bye world of martyrdom. This is something else.
