sometimesboy
I opened up my homepage to check the headlines and I saw your picture. I almost skipped over it, figuring it was just another tale of your fuckt up antics. But one word caught my attention and made me click the link: DEAD. Singer Amy Winehouse Found DEAD In Her London Home.
I came across an old VHS video cassette tape of you the other day and I had to sit down and watch it. There you were, in your prime, in all your glory. You were on fire and you didn't care if it hair-lipped the world. Wherever you are tonight...whatever chair you sit in...I hope you still feel that fearless. I hope you're still on fire.
You know, I don't think I remember you. I kind of remember your name from high school, it sounds familiar, but I couldn't put a face to it if I tried. Apparently we know a lot of the same people. I've looked at your picture on facebook and tried to place you, but when I look at you all I can see looking back at me is the face of a haunted old military man in a middle aged man's body. You wear a grimace and a uniform like a child's Halloween false face costume... to hide the prisoner held hostage by what he's seen in a Middle Eastern war...
So the record company plans to release a new 5 DISC Deluxe Reissue of Nirvana's NEVERMIND to celebrate the album's 20th anniversary...sounds like just the kind of thing that would make Kurt blow his brains out all over again...
I was tard of standin' there and tard of having my shirt buttoned up to my neck. Mama was layin' there in the box and a fly kept landin' on her face but she was sleepin'. Mama's husband was sittin' in a chair next to her, ballin' somethin pitiful. He kept rubbing her hair and shewing the fly away. I rested my chin on the edge of the box and just wanted Mama to wake up so we could go home.
I've got so many things to get done, I should start writing them down. It's not that I'm being scatterbrained or lazy...there just seems to be too many things for me to keep track of lately. So tomorrow I will lay it all out in a mental spreadsheet...pouring endless task into numbered cells...the data that keeps my mind racing.
We was hungry, so we scooped in that food like we was hungry squirrels. It was a blessing, after the long road we'd been on. It was a blessing beyond our belief.
I don’t really like the feelings that you inspire in me. I’m not sure why I even bother getting worked up. I wish I could train myself to see you as insignificant, which you rightfully should be in my life. I’m tired of being the diplomatic doormat.
Working on my novel. Working on my paintings. Working on some furniture and home design projects. Working at a job where I am underpaid and undervalued. This is my station. Life is good.