Do I want to be like him or not?
A day in Tampa
can sometimes feel like
heaven or like hell or like
a day in the sauna with an
ready to tear your fucking nuts off, and for no good
No reason at all.
and you can get the world
Well, “the world” if it counts as a cream cheese bagel, burnt at the end,
with minimal cream cheese, and a large coffee that produces third degree burns.
It’s hard being bourgeois.
It’s hard surviving on Dominoes’ Pizza and Parmesan Bread Bites, at a low, low cost of twenty bucks or so.
(No, I’m not shilling.
But, I’m not against any corporate back scratching, am I right or am I right?)
Endless fields of green
Endless lanes of cows
Endless vistas of traffic
Where is the sanctuary I was
hoping to find when this whole odyssey
Saw an old friend
Sad to have missed him for so long
Happy to see him again
Sad to see him as always
Long nights of driving
Long days of sitting
Money always spent
But does that make you happy?
80 bucks for chicken wings and some
goddamn onion rings?
But then again, what do I know?
I’m just an asshole with a decent vocabulary
and a semi-formal-casual college-like
I’m just a guy
that pouts and whines and sulks and complains
And wastes time
Who else could wonder about the lack of time to work on projects
and to watch movies
when I’m sitting here
Just fingerfucking with the keyboard, thinking about when to break a line or when not to break a line or when to keep going or why keep going when it’s been close to fifty fucking weeks of absolute bullshit and the fact of the matter is I’m tired of college and projects and virtual school and writing and magazine editing and it’s all the same thing year in year out so why should I try?
Why should I care?
I guess I’ve got nothing better to do than be a disgruntled motherfucker
A sad sack
A piece of shit
A sod or a twat
But a twat with ability to string together words
So I guess I can pay the bills
It means Ishmael,
It is the number 42,
It is like the sodden-ed grass,
It is talking about Breaking Bad,
It is the memory of Hunter S. Thompson,
Who taught me Fear and Loathing,
When he savaged the powers that be with the written word,
My name is Ismael,
It means I’m full of shit.
Finally started it
I guess I’m late.