There is a way to do business like I want to do business without causing a scene you know. So after a few conversations with �yeah, I know� littered throughout them and witnessing things first hand, I realize I need to move. Not move, but move my head across town. I talked to a few people last night and they agreed on a lot of things, they were on the same page as me. It�s not the same as the hypocrites and psychology majors who tell me I�m a hypocrite, or tell me how and what to do. I know there is no way I could ever be in that frame of mind, which makes me smile, because it�s not in my family, and it�s not something I crave, ever. It�s not something I think about. How much? But the masses know it all, the masses are correct, the girls are all correct. Watching three blonde girls with huge tits and tight pants drink a trio of �colorful drinks� with all sorts of fruits and shit hanging out of them is a funny sight I saw last night. They all went home to their vibrators and Ricky Martin posters, while their boyfriends were out with the boys holding up Britney Spears pictures to the light to see if you could see anything underneath her clothes. There are way more of us outsiders around here than there are masses though. I meet them from time to time. I shake their hands in agreement. Discuss the downfall of our girlfriends and boyfriends. Discuss the conversations that are similar to my swimming pool at Christmas. I never hit anyone. I never swear, I never through anyone down stair cases. I never punch boys and fuck girls because it feels good to come. I want to hold hands in the desert. Sometimes I feel like I am driving into the desert, and we will spend eternity there, talking and balancing a steady diet of cigarettes and arguments about strength. The only way for me to stop this cough is to keep lighting more cigarettes. The only way for me to completely move is to never show my ID to anyone again. Move into this new place. I told her how I feel. I told him how I feel. I will tell them all, they know. I can�t taste the same as they can taste. My love and my trust and all of that is in the middle. When I think of alleyways now I think of Farrah Fawcett and John Holmes. When I think of blonde girls, I think of the taste of whiskey. I think of that and that only. That�s no way to go about my daily business. I want the memories of fishing boats and walks on piers and cooking chicken and rice for two and movies about apes and people with no arms and drives to Maine and even faster drives home and blow jobs in the middle of the night and bags of candy with just the black ones left and carnivals with no rides for my �pussy ass self� and complete contentment with this that and the other thing. Who wants the glass of whiskey with a phone number sticking out of it? Not I , I have that. Well, I had it. I don�t want anyone to get in the way of this. This is why the fingers never do the walking anymore. This is why my dream has come true. My dreams always come true after 5 or 6 nightmares in a row. Dreams of tables for one. I like that I can�t taste blood anymore. I like that I don�t have to take acting classes and all of that fun stuff. I like that I can be held down at gunpoint and still have a good time. I know the limit now. I know the way to San Jose. I know where to find the sunlight and easy living. It ain�t about finding it every day though. It�s all about me. It�s about me all the time. Fuck that, I don�t need to sign any papers. I don�t need to move myself into any new homes and shake hands with the devil and all of that. I now know who my friends and enemies are. It will never happen we said. It happened though. It happened worse than it could have, and I finally have figured out that it wasn�t just my fault. We should have both signed the agreement. I don�t take responsibility. I am in no way responsible for all of it. Girls ruin everyone�s fun too. The girls with those cocktail glasses of whatever it is they are poisoning themselves with. It�s okay, it�s legal. It can�t be that bad, you just don�t know what you�re talking about, now come over here and pick my teeth out of this tree for me I can�t feel my legs and my dad is going to kill me for what I�ve done to the car. Sick? You are definitely not sick, you want to feel sick. You just don�t use your brain ever. I make apologies and I send greeting cards to you and you still think it�s all okay. You don�t realize it moves on. It all moves along slowly. Magicians with baseball hats making your trust disappear. I like showing people the same tricks they showed me. I like smashing books and notebooks full of sugar and spice and everything nice. I like when I can get up in the morning, literally roll out of bed and have a million things to say about her. I was thinking about her before bed and I thought good things and nothing bad. Who cares what the neighbors say? Who would care what the folks downstairs would think. I�m not turning this car around and heading home I know that much. I could sit here and wonder and write letters and make phone calls like I did a month ago, but I have no real reason to act like a lollipop anymore. Why be a sucker when you have better neighbors that are more than willing to lend you sugar? Curiosity. Jealousy. They happen for a day at a time with me. They come out of my room and they kill me with eyes that look right through me. The eyes stop at one place and don�t move from there. I look like something to her, what do I look like, yeah a big lollipop. I look like I deserve her attention apparently. I can�t give no more attention to her though. It don�t feel like it�s going to give me anything. I want things from people. I want them to just shut the fuck up most of the time. I want people to give me things now. I gave way too many things for years and then turned into a sucker all the time. I want to go back to mutual decision making, and mutually administered back rubs and phone calls. There isn�t time for the advice of Jack Daniels right now, that�s so two weeks ago. That�s so 16 years ago. I swallow things and spit them out when they taste like hair spray and whiskey. I throw them against the wall as hard as I can so I can see the blood splatter all over the place. I have these visions of blood all the time. Vivid, detailed scenarios of what it must be like to be involved in a disastrous car wreck. I had to pull off the road four times last week because I thought a truck was going to hit me head on going 75 miles and hour. I pictured this big metal thing coming through the window and me trying to duck, and just having my head ripped wide open and screaming from passengers and brakes and glass and all of that. No blood, just glass and crying. I never tell anyone about this. I get this twice a drive. I get the chills and freak out. I�m too confident in that car. Too confident I won�t hit the big truck. The big trucks kill me. The big trucks haunt me anytime I�m on the highway. I hate those visions though, as they are so real. I know what it�s like. I don�t want anyone to ever have to make that phone call about me. This is one main reason Jack Daniels isn�t going to help me. He helps boys gather informantion about girls they would otherwise not give the time of day to. It helps girls forget they have any pride or respect. It helps nobody really. It helps me turn my love into comedy. It helps me walk down the street and find comedy at every corner as they all swerve and stumble through their little lives. It helps me get to the bottom of things a lot easier. I need to go see Harry this week. I haven�t seen him in a while. There are good funny stories I need to tell him, there are ironic depressing stories I need to tell him. I could tell him about 4 attributes about someone and he�ll immediately tell me if they are a good person, or an evil person. He was the intuition of a guy that has seen it all. He has the experience. I will go by his place from work sometime this week I think. I love that old bastard. I need to print him up some stories I wrote recently. He told me he went to the library and read some of this thing. He said �no wonder no one calls you�but at least you�re right all the time� . He knows what�s up. Good friends yeah.. When I hit my exit I�m gonna get off and drive so fucking far away from here. When I hit my exit, I�m gonna drive to the beach. I love the vast ocean in front of me. It sort of scares me and makes me feel good at the same time. It�s all too big. I don�t want the big things anymore. None of the big issues to deal with. None of the day to day bullshit I seem to get myself involved with all because someone is a loser and I don�t want to shake his or her hand. I want this to end. Well, it has ended at this point. It has started to show it�s face in different ways now. Death. I keep noticing death. I see dead animals on the side of the road so much now, that I am affected when I see them. That and the stupid visions I have in the car of crashing horribly and the vivid detail of passengers screaming and smashing and breaking glass and twisted metal is enough to keep me in the house for the whole of the winter. I need a new bed first. This bed is old. It has too many attachments at this point. I want a new bigger one. I want this room to be a whole new center of attention for me. I don�t like the outside anymore, there�s far too many dangerous things happening, and far too many people I just don�t want to see ever again. Just those people I meet from time to time that don�t do a thing for me. I don�t mean my friends, maybe the people who know certain people and this and that and the other thing. No substance usually. The movie I picture has me shacking up in some big empty house with no chairs. This big mansion with nothing in it except me and a bunch of pictures of nothing whatsoever. Once I get filled with adoration everything changes. I like the way it changes I like the way it makes the morning a million times better. They told me in charm school to never trust a woman who asks for a second�well, never mind that, I can�t give away the secrets. I can�t let anyone in on that stuff. I have no clue how it works. Working the party so that you can get something at the end of the night. Reciting bad poetry and telling stories of you and the boys and always ending up talking about someone taking a shit somewhere or on someone or something like that. Conversations about penises, and conversations about ex-girlfriends and the problems you say they had. You get lied to and then I show up and introduce you to my bodyguards and my brand new car. I had a one hundred dollar bill that I wanted her to light on fire for me, and I also had a mind that I wanted to be thrown into the gutter before being twisted and deceived. Some sort of clone of women past I knew from downtown hellville. You don�t even understand the winter, it makes you weak, it makes you complain and complain and never want to be alone. You can�t even handle what the winter does to people. I like to watch what it does to people like you. Taking your emotions and building them up until February arrives and you have a nervous breakdown and can't handle anything whatsoever. You can�t handle the way it freezes everything you have and puts everyone away for the night. The nights are so lonely and desolate. Your car makes all this noise and only you get to hear it. You get to pull into the frosted driveway late at night depressed yet again, 25 winters and you still can�t get it right. �I�m gonna move to Texas�, you�re going nowhere. Go up to your bedroom. Don�t lock the car in this weather, the locks may freeze. The night wants you to just shut the fuck up and go to bed. You�ll go to bed and like it. Nobody is out tonight, nobody is calling you tonight. You and the freezing wind and the frustration. Snow comes and you still can�t figure out why the winter does this to people every year. It doesn�t though, it�s just you. You and your weak self can�t handle loneliness. You can�t go at it alone. You can�t sit by the fire by yourself. You can�t go a few days without speaking a word. You need the interaction, you need someone to hold you from time to time, that�s not asking much right? Everyone needs that. Everyone needs the adoration and warmth of another human being. You need it constantly. Some place warm to hold your heart and not squeeze it so tight, especially in this winter. This dead cold winter. The summer is your time of year. Hot nights by the pool, no complaints from you. Everyone is home for vacation. Everyone is always around. You all get to get together and talk about how much the winter sucked. Nobody is hearing you though. You make jokes and comments about this one and that one, and can�t remember the last time someone held you in their arms and looked you in the eye. People, they seem to look away from you all the time. People, they seem to not want you. The summer is your time, and it�s ending quickly. What do you do, do you go for the gold and not turn back, or do you drive the straight and narrow road straight into it. I once drove my car off of a pier because they said I wouldn�t. Jumped out at the last minute and walked home with my new shoes and made sure I didn�t get sick. I don�t get sick often. I drive my car off of piers and don�t get sick. I drive my car into seasons. Slow dead cold seasons. I drive my car into this bullshit all the time. I know how to enjoy the ride now. I realize now that there is one way to approach this, with the car in drive, headlights on, seatbelts fastened, clean windshield, and a full tank of gas.

Out-

before & after