I need a good reason to be who I am.
And for lots of other times too.
I'm taking a blog vacation.
Maybe only for a moment.
Perhaps for decades. I dunno.
There's too much irony in my blood. Too much contradiction.
Normally I revel in this absolute, but today, there's far too much of that metallic component flowing freely throughout my inner verse to feel comfortable in taking everyone else with me into that descent.
It is snowing outside. That kind of beautiful light snow, that doesn't stay long enough to accumulate, but it keeps coming nonetheless? Fluid, flowing, elusive.
That's me in a nutshell.
I feel as though I'm going nowhere, really, fucking fast.
Black Katherine wants me on meds. Real meds, not this herbal supplemental shit that I kid myself with everyday. She's not pimping it on me drug lord style or anything. It's in a way that's making me question my every step though.
Snookms was doped up on meds for 8 fucking years of our marriage. And where did it lead us to? "A Brave New World", that's where. Where opinions didn't matter and apocolyptic zombie like behavior was the condition, rather than the momentum of things.
I queried some lit agent about my memoir. I feel as though I'm handing in an essay from my 1st grade years.
I hope none of you give up on me, as I love every last one of you, "anonymous" and the like.
But I must take refuge in Dream Country for a while, and find the Cuckoo in me. I need to differentiate some things, and find out if she is where she is supposed to be.
"Optimal" is the key word here folks.
Otherwise, I'm fucked.
Help this guy out, if you can. His fucking house burnt down for Christ's sake.