you used to ride the chrome horse

The door opened to my deck and I stepped through. The wooden deck beneath my feet was damp, but not like the usual sticky and hot; instead it was cool against my skin. The air was cool as well, heavy with the smell of wheat and corn, but refreshing all the same. The door to my car was unlocked, as usual, the cigarettes were in the console, as usual, and I needed a smoke -- as usual. I sat on the second metallic step from the bottom, next to Grumpy, my black and white spotted cat. Camels. Fresh air. Thank God for cigarettes. When it was out, I stumped it, placed it in the empty carton, and put them in the green trashcan, not the blue one. From there I was awake and needed something to do. I went upstairs to pick up my guitar and continue to go through my new Dylan songbook. But a certain metal box with a certain green herb in it was calling my name. Perpetually. I had to. No other way around it. So I did. And now I'm sitting here in my orange chair listening to Bob instead of playing him, or at least his music. And maybe right now someone thinks I'm not myself, but maybe they just don't really know me.

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happy birthday dad.
(we went and saw iron man, again)
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gonzo is amazing.
hst is amazing.
i know why you cried.
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ask me anything

funny how quick things get turned around on you / on someone else.
funny how i've made a mockery of things and don't really care.

*funny how in three (3) days i'm fucking out of here.

funny how lately i've been so much more comfortable
out of my own skin / in alternate universes

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it's time to put a few things to rest.
finally.period.finally.