passenger

in cars there is no sense of when.
this is how i see it.
in cars, all the nice parts of being strange happen.
tonight, as all my stories start, tonight as usual im in a car.
tonight though, tonight im drunk.
i have already given up on friends and the hope of going to a milling breathing place.
my fingers reach and the wind meets them, my arm creates a curve and i wonder what time it is. theres something safe about a huge heavy metal and leather and plastic capsule that flies down a street or takes a turn too fast and my body its just tenses and im leaning. into. a pause.
the air, stale and stuck as inertia and vibration and pull take over, if only for those few seconds.
lovely.
out the window are smears of color and resistance and sleeping individuals.
theres something in this movement. in the thought that in another moment i wont be where i was before.
im so restless.
work in the morning and me with this heavy head and eyelids to match.
i think of the day that preceded.
getting paid and having nothing to show for it, looking into unfamiliar eyes and wanting to say everything, wanting wanting wanting.
it might have been uncomfortable, i might have been a little catty and cynical.
but then the warmth.
[soft]
i have to say, this is turning out perfect. the goals and the planning. perfect.
i usually get what i want after all. and im just drunk enough to say it. i usually win. right now im pretty damn happy. rare. i could be in the usual state. but tonight im seeing the progress.
[i see my chance]

the things you want and what you get are never the same, but this time im breaking the rules.


this blog has no structure.
on any other night, i might try to fix it.

but im thinking of rolling air and another cigarettes and the way people look at me and im going to sleep off the ego im wearing and hope i wake up in a more reasonable state.

but it may be too late.

im done playing.