And so passes another year, the year of the Reds. Time flows and crashes and chews me up and spit me out. I am but a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. I try to find anything at all in the sky above but all that is seen are a few hazy stars and the blinking light of a satellite. I should just sleep. I should just be content enough for now. I’m not though nor will I ever be I imagine. It’s karma though. Cigarettes do give you cancer… allegedly.
I think I let my world get too small again. It needs more because I’m bored and better that than the other things I do when I’m bored. Get your mind out of the gutter please. It doesn’t belong there and there wouldn’t enough room as myself and my fellow Marlboro carcasses already laid claim to that site. But then again, why do anything when being placid is an option. I could just lie on my back watch this whole world pass by above me. Just slip into the scenery so long that not only can I no longer be found, no one even knows where to look anymore.
I could do that but I never really would be able. I get too angry as I am a hot headed Irish individual. Somewhere inside me beats the heart of a romantic who is fuelled by poetic passion. What is the difference between anger and passion anyway, if there even is one which there very well might not be? It could and is just a matter of justification in the eyes of the one that is the self. Passion is just being convinced you can do something about how angry you are. I wonder if there is anything out there or in here or in one of the various locations in between them.
There must or so I will convince myself. I’m a human being goddamn it! My life has value! And that value is whatever I want it to be. You can set your own value for me and it could change. It does and it has and it will for as long as I have breath in my lungs I will be different from the day before. Even after life leaves this body, it will change. It will crumble and decompose and become valuable to a whole new group of things. Worms all over the world are hungry, what are you doing to help? For the price of only your conscious organic life, you could feed worms who are in need. Worms need to eat too.
Oh man, would you look at that? That certainly got out of hand rather fast. But like I was saying before, new year and all that jazz. Well here’s an idea that I just sprang up with, a weekly series of short stories. The idea is a comic book with no pictures. I’ll have to set a deadline each week and I should try to be strict with it. I can get lazy as is proven here. The title is lying to you. It’s not Sunday any longer. It I snow in fact Monday and what a glorious Monday it is. I’ll need to pick a day that would work, so during the week probably around Wednesday. We’ll see how it goes and if it really becomes anything worthwhile. Commit doesn’t really hurt either. I have very little of that at the current moment. It is incredible what I can do without giving much of a shit. It must be even more incredible when a shit is given.
Don’t fret, the hero never wins. This isn’t TV damn it, this is good ol’ print. The only people who ever win here are villains. Them and antiheroes and I think I’ll be working at the latter. It’s tough but hell I’m bored and got nothing better to do. I’ll bear the weight of the world for a while. I’ll feel better about myself if I get no recognition.
Just kidding. Antiheroes can have negative characteristics. I’ll try to shake some of them, but vanity is innate.