The flesh is weak, especially flesh that is this completely and utterly spent. I’m beat, man. And not like Kerouac beat, more like, I’ve been drinking for two days, hung over, beat… even though I think that might be what he meant. I was told I have sunburn on my face and there is a bruise on my hip that I don’t remember getting, all done surprisingly enough, with not that much money… or at least yesterday. I still have no money, but I figured I wouldn’t have made it this far.
There were kids fighting while I was getting pizza. Some guy was arguing with some girl in a very sloppy drunk freshman fashion. Actually this one was a little scummier, since the guy ended up losing his cool so bad that he just starts screaming and yelling that he’s from Queens and said nigga like fifty times and got everyone thrown out. I had to take the elevator with him and listen as he tried to justify himself to no one because I don’t think anyone really gave a shit. It was all over some hickey he had. Like I said, the flesh is weak.
Ever feel like you’re separated from the things that you are supposed to know so well, so much that when you so much as look and listen to the people you know and they seem like they’re not real, made up, as if they were some sort of actors in some sort of play that you get to sit on stage and watch happen? That is unless you act back and play the game and hell, maybe you could even win the game.
The sun is creeping out and that’s alright. It’s cool and almost cold and it’s fall and the leaves are falling just like they did last year and the year before that and I’m going to assume for some time before I was ever born.
If there was a way to know what way anything would go, would you want to know? Would I? Or is the vast power of mystery just too much for me to be able to handle such a thing. Why live on if you just know what would happen. There once was a kid and in his place stands a young man with a few hairs on his chin and darker circles under his eyes. And he has a headache. And he’s probably going to finish this later because I’m feeling quite thoughtless. I’m more vegetable than man now.
And then I went to stuff all day and then sleep for like twelve hours and then woke up and did some good things and ate and here I am, now, sitting and trying to figure out where I was going with this yesterday. I honestly don’t know if I can even remember the fried out thoughts I had and am not really sure if I could be even capable of recreating them, or even if I want to do such a thing. I don’t believe I will because to be perfectly honest it’s slowing me down from anything that I was thinking before.
So I’ll just think now. And so clicks the clock. It goes on and on as I just think in place. Maybe you could consider it meditation, but you shouldn’t. I’m scared still and seemingly forever. I thought about something someone asked me and I didn’t really think all that much of it until now. She asked me when I was moving to New York City. Well Brian, when are you moving to New York City?
Well after I graduate I guess, if I get a job and you know, like if I have the money or maybe borrow or something… I dunno.
What the fuck kind of answer is that. When? As soon as I fucking can. How? However I fucking can. I need to start sprinting. I need to do something and stop starving and I need to get ready to jump to the next day. I can’t dread the loss of any day because I could always have tomorrow and if I can’t, oh well. Death is but a part of life and someday my understanding of that will be real. I need plans to follow until they collapse, at which point I have more plans. I need to keep running and chasing something.
And yet I won’t let anything come to mind. I don’t urge myself to rise and do something that I can value myself for. I don’t know now, I don’t know. I think and worry and want to do things but apparently not enough and live a vague life with vague excuses.
But I’m still tired and don’t have cigarettes, so I suppose I’ll think a little worse of myself. It’s the curse of being part of a generation that wants instant gratification. The problem is that time is a thing that this reality likes to use, so few things are instant. But it is just nothing, especially whenever you look back because no matter how old you are, when you look back on what has passed, it seems like nothing. Or rather is seems as it were part of this condensed whole. It just compiled and is and the rest is just fed to us. The curse of being part of the spoon fed generation, which is a lot larger than a normal generation.