doing? what am i thinking? and what should i do about it?
i have never learned a single lesson.
omigod i wanna smoke
So I keep reaching this conclusion recently, sometimes at inopportune times: I’ve lost being alive. “Meaning what?” you ask, and you’re justified, sure. The thing is, I know what it means to be alive. i’ve been alive. I’ve tasted it. I’ve tasted it on desert rocks in Moab and at 110 miles per hour on Donner Pass and on Greyhound busses on the great plains and standing in BART stations in Berkeley and walking through O’Hare airport in Chicago.
It’s a flavor, it’s a resource, it’s like breathing or feeling. You stand outside in zero degrees and you open your mouth and swallow up the moon and it tastes like tomorrow and yesterday all rolled into one and you know you’re alive.
Only I’m not right now. I’ve lost it again. I get it back and then I lose it; it’s a pattern. I hate having lost it. I have to be alive again. I have to. I have to figure out what’s next and what’s needed and what’s what and what’s not and I have to paint everything the perfect color to ride the rainroad straight through to mortality.
Time to wake up. Wake up. WAKEUP! Motofokkon!