Every year, August lashes out in volcanic fury, rising with the din of morning traffic, its great metallic wings smashing against the ground, heating the air with ever-increasing intensity.
My heart is making a dull, drumming sound and I’m thinking that my life is a waiting game and I’m sinkin’ all the while.
My mind and I had a meeting, and we came to the conclusion that you’re going to let us down. We are here every minute of the day getting ready for the let down. So when you push me away, I’ll just say ok, because we came to that conclusion a while ago. Like I said, we were ready for the let down.
She left an empty house in my heart. The lights don’t work anymore, the heater’s broken.
America is seething at all times. It’s like a Gaza Strip that’s three thousand miles long.
Sometimes it’s hard to convince yourself that you’re not an idiot.
I wish I wasn’t alive as much as you are dead.
Open your eyes. Your tears cut a trail. Your scars build a ladder that takes you to a place that you could not have gotten to any other way. Take a look around, remember every second, every breath, every choked scream. Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength. Move on.
I’m sorry for not being sorry that I’m not sorry.
Sometimes I feel like going down to the recycling plant. Turning myself in, jumping into the inferno, getting melted down, coming out again as someone else. Scrap metal man.
Jangles my nerves like a tambourine of razors.
Yesterday wants to pull me in, pull me down and starve me.
Sleep is my escape. It gives me a break from the ceaseless self awareness that I choke on.
You’re going to do what you’re going to do and that’s all there is. That’s all you got and that’s that.
I want to walk in the desert tonight. I want the wind to pass over me. I want to let the poison bleed through the soles of my feet into the desert floor. I want to starve the monster. I want to punish it with thoughts of clean night wind. The.
When I am near people, I can’t hear the wind. Nights are wasted when spent around others.
You’ll end up right where you’re supposed to be. Don’t be surprised when you get there. Everything you did was a step in that direction. There is no such thing as bad luck.
Autumn is the time when a good book is a better friend than your fellow panicked urban compressionist.
I have felt the muscle pull away from the bone. For a time I was mislead into thinking that I avenge these acts of harm against me. I realized that by living and growing stronger on a diet of scar tissue, I had something better than revenge. I have the best of your bad situation. I am like the roach, the rock, the mountain. I will not die. I will not break. I will not move. Face it. You’ll go to your grave knowing you never had what it took to stop me.
My records are good friends. They’re an army. Standing straight, in rows, ready to go. Prepared to neutralize sadness and the sometimes crushing pointlessness of almost every pursuit. My heart will not break because my records have built a wall around it.
Being non-reliant on people for contentment is a strength. Even when I feel like I want to be around people, I starve it out and make it die. I think it’s the right thing to do.