the brightest time of your life was taking a sick day in late november, a cold cold day, and taking a shot of tequila as the sun shone through the hot hot house in the early afternoon, and you're preparing for your future, did you know that? more liquor and more and more sun until you can't stand the feeling, the warm warm feeling in your shoulders, sore and achey, ready to explode, and you go OUT THERE and freeze and run and freeze some more in the bitter bitter air, until all the stifling stifling expression has escaped your forlorn soul, and the sun beats down on you some more, but you decide to just grab the boring boring mail and go back inside the lonely lonely house with your dark dark thoughts and be normal for a little while longer before you snap again and write more poetry and drink and warm up and cool down and eventually die; but deliverance will not come, you will never die with every question answered, and that's what makes you so scared of death, because you know underneath everything that you're going to die without knowing why we live and why we die and it tears at you that you'll have to go OUT THERE and make a shitty living with seas upon seas of ignorance and such a painful bliss of a desire to escape this one time cycle called life.

and that's probably why you're drinking in the first place, you sweet, sweet child, enjoy this brightest time of your life while you can, because there's no bright side to death at all.

how can music be

so damn beautiful; ah, it's

just culture and crap

and it's a conveyer belt to heaven, but

it takes you straight to hell;

one can appreciate hell after a while though, and then its just

a certain amount of apathy while you wait for deliverance

roller coaster dreams