sept 25 4:22.28 AM

Another night I end up drunk and alone. Wonderful start full of fireworks and celebration, the sonic and mesmerizing yells that came from our throats in the heat of such a battle. Our battalion held strong. We lost no ground. My friends relished the fact that I am starting to become that guy who gets salty after a night of hard drinking but nowhere to night cap it. An unresolved major scale. That last hanging seventh before full resolution. A sleepy girl. The older sisters friends. Remembered for my humor. Little does she know how dark it can get once I have enough alcohol and empty space in between myself and a goal. Talking led zeppelin and other good music like normal human beings. A man wearing a motorcycle helmet in the back of a nice looking convertible. Awaiting eminent car accident. Where he will be the only left alive. Such morbid thoughts manifest as laughable jokes. A late night in excess where we prank those who do not deserve pranking and get bad karma sent towards us. Although the minute I realized I am being pranked I will feel like I deserved it, if not earned it. I will enjoy the embarrassment in front of people who try to impress each other while I dance to some dubstep at the expense of my self-esteem. And unfortunately, no girls attempted to pick me up on this late night. No late night six pack. No day time poolside six pack. We are flabby and full of skin. We are full of that summer heat that cannot die. The mirth and the merriment that held us so closely together after the years. We cannot go back. And the connections we made, we almost realize must be kept in the past for us not to spoil. The deletion of a thread. That girl who pokes at my brain every day. Who is nowhere near physical contact. Who deserves nothing less than absolute affection and happiness. The one who haunts me and makes me call strangers sluts although this strange slut got to me in a way I never thought possible. The keyboard on fire. Where words don't have to make absolute sense. Where the grammar doesn't matter and where my handwriting is not indicative of my sobriety. here typing, I've written much less somber sober sentences than at the level I now sit. After ten minutes I still feel as if nothing has been said. visited the dollar store, my apologies, the 99 cent store and picked up various trinkets to host certain allotted spaces in our dorm, a sunday night party, the cigarette burns will eventually hurt the skin, the exterior plowed over and replaced my a hardened shell of outside opinion. where body shots mean much more than accidental intimate contact. where each beer and conversation counts for more than a failed date rape attempt. where posing as a brother can actually work towards some true advantage, where drinking games are illuminated by lighters burning off miscellaneous std's off of red or blue cups, one broken I refused to play, simply wanted to talk, to draw the bridge, to draw the bird and to impress others with awesome intrinsic motivation.. That which I might have if I were more committed to one thing over another. After playing guitar, at first feeling insecure, no talent... ave you been practicing? A nice backhanded compliment, apparently... But maybe not because I had nothing to base the unreality of the comment on. I played. I received compliment. And maybe I should accept it. Maybe I need to understand that once I pass a certain age I lose all self respect for such parties I never felt a part of. These situations where all people met are transient or jail bait or jail birds. the people whose future is behind solid iron bars. those who give their hearts up explaining past situations in a jail cell, a wrecked car, a nearly wrecked future, dad as lawyer, fixed it all as if there was no curtain to hide all behind the scenes participation. a slid stream of words influenced by the alubm. the portugal the man. the vibe. the salt. the friendships and the desolate isloation that I feel when I say goodbye to a friend who is about to share a bed with a recently ex girlfriend. the roommate who moves in with her. the lack of game but the abundance of words. removing clothes by layers but for attention and nothing else. the deletion of such meaningful pictures of paint strewn canvas and naked bodies, the feminine figure displayed before a canvas to be translated by observant and patient eyes, a patient and obedient woman, to feel comfortable in her own skin without realizing she is a trainwreck, without realizing that old habits die hard and that to be a worthless slut once is a hard trend to depart from. to workout to no avail. to make valuable connections although after drunk i lose all confidence in all my supposed friends and i watch them all fall by the wayside as i travel forward towards drunken donut, dunkin donut breakfast and four points study sessions where i rewrite a solid sunday hypothesis, where my age matters to the extent i cannot have the amount of fun the rest has. but i digress. i yelled at strangers probably seeking attention for myself. probably picking a fight to see if i could live up to outside expectation. to see if i have any real courage or if it is all a huge facade.