We’ll all float on.

May 30, 2012

I hope you find what you’re looking for. I hope you find someone to love. I’m glad that you figured out that you need to make changes in your life. It sucks that you hurt me in the process. And not to be a douche, but I don’t owe you anything. Respect that I’m hurting like I’m respecting your choices.

Lotta fights, lotta scars. Lotta bottles, lotta cars. Lotta ups, lotta downs. Made it back. Here I stand, a better man.

I’m lonely and sad all the time. Every day I am grumpy at work, short with annoying customers, and that doesn’t bother me anymore even though it’s unprofessional. It upsets me. I like my job and I’m good at it. But I get talked down to every day of my life. I don’t help people, I just serve the same people over and over and have the same conversations over and over. I find no shame in serving people, either. But I need a career. And I will never be able to do that unless I step up my game. No more crap. I’m making changes I need to make. I have a meeting with a college advisor tomorrow. I will hopefully be enrolled soon. If I don’t like it, sucks for me. I chose it and I’m sticking it out. It’s been two long years and I finally am making positive choices.

Hollow Men.

May 3, 2012

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.

‎So a bunch of online colleges are phone stalking me, my birthday was pretty fantastic, work  has been weird, and I want to make friends so I have people to hang out with and live with. But whateva. I’m looking into different types of school and stuff and still on my 9-5 grind, but the money’s running thin and my body is getting worn out. At least that’s how I’m interpreting vomiting every other night for three weeks, to go to the doctor and be told I am still fine and advised to go on birth control. SMH everybody, smh.

“We’ll I’ve been tired ’cause I don’t sleep so well on trains. Well I got ups and downs but days are all the same. I’ve been low, but it never gets me down. Well I’ve been thrown out, I’ve been let down, I’ve been chased. Well I’ve had hardships, I’ve been stripped of pride and name. I’ve been low, but it never gets me down.”