Driver, where you taking us?

Man, wish I could just sit around and write all day. Write and read...

That exact possibility may be occurring sometime next month. After I pay off my court fees. I just gotta hang on til I pay this shit off... then I might go down to Benson to live with my parents. God, that'd be nice. Just chill down there and read, write, and work. Fuck my sisters.

Sure do wish I hadn't lost my job. But it's too late to look back and wish.

I'm gonna swing by some of the places I applied at. See if they need me. Jack in the Box, Chevron, Barnes & Noble... we'll see. I should probly shave first.

I don't know. It's crazy... on the one hand, I have this incredible drive to do something amazing, something to alter the course of mankind's flow. Destiny, I guess. I know it's going to happen, regardless of what I do. The only thing that matters is my spirit... my path is already laid out before me. All I can do is maintain my positive drive and make those footprints where they need to be. But on the other hand, I feel the teetering seduction of abyss, of the lake of fire, of just throwing in the towel and surrendering the spirit.

Every day is a balance between the two. A battle of positive and negative. All the while, my attempt at remaining neutral, with an edge towards positivity. I know it's wrong, innately- what you seek is often what is farthest from your grasp, only when you let go of your reaching for it, that you find it close at hand.

My writing is broken and shameful. I haven't been writing at all. Just walking around, reading and drinking energy drinks, like I have all the time in the world. I'm a magnificent bluff. But it's really not the bluff of a gambler set to win, more the bluff of a comic set to entertain infinity- the crowd- with one grand gesture... before being thrown off stage for his raucous debacles.

I ain't here for no one. It's just me and God, me and infinity. And honestly, in the end, it's just God. Fate. Destiny.

It's ironic that while I'm in such a state that I could produce the most truly brazen poetry i have yet written, the very nature of my state detaches me from any such fornications of the literary abstraction. I'm only blogging, today, due to the overwhelming sense of despondence and loneliness that encompasses my orb, my aura, my spirit, like paint dropped on a waiting egg.

I wish I had a student ID, or a freakin laptop so I could type! God damn. I need a job... It sucks! Right when shit was going good, I flubbed it! I always do that shit. And it's ironic, as well, because I'm always telling people to stop making so much fucking drama- there's enough out there even without trying.

Things are never so easy, however. Things are never so simple. Not anymore. The woolly, cotton brains of infancy have definitely gone on the blue bus.