suckerpunch

"Give me another drink and maybe they won't notice that I was allowed life again. And again, they'll have that look of surprise--that panic attack as fury spits forth from my eyes!"

No one knows everything despite the twisted nature of God's sense of humor. These horrors have left me feeling stupid and lonely, and I find myself looking through the personal ads for someone I can pass through--much like the days that have come and gone in no certain order, though I end up in a different place in the end. I feel distant and this has rendered me emotionally useless to all but a select few, all of whom wander long streets in Southeast Asia, looking for the man they call Nashville. So I still wait for them, or Nashville, or the delivery of a black and white TV that's typewriter compatible.

Strangers go by again. Pretending to be happy. Pretending to be alive. But they are anxious and uncertain. It's lead to sleepless nights, cigarette punching and face stealing in the name of happiness. I say to them, "Manipulate all you can while you can, because someday, someone's going to try to take you over." Your only defense is song and dance or wonderful breasts, and you, my dear sainted friend, have neither. So grow a beard and paint your toe nails, become a pop star for the deaf and dumb. Never mind the bastards, because they're God's favorites...

(taken from Love Is A Ghost Thing. Published by Publish America.)