I hate buying milk.
I always think about
where I’ll be when it reaches
its expiration date,
and how you still
won’t be there with me.

Time is the enemy and the instrument. Time's hands always ticking away like laughter. It was that same laughter which led me drop out from college. The same laughter which keeps me up to the early hours of restless nights.
It's hard to live a life of uncertainty. It scares me to think about the breaking point. Even though I don't know where it is. Will rock bottom be made up of steel or quick sand?
I feel the need to connect with other people. But other people can be fickle, annoying things. It doesn't matter. This life I've found myself in requires solitude.
I fantasize a lot about piling my clothes and belongings into my car and skipping town. where ever you want to go ahead of you. All troubles, responsibilities, and worries behind you. Just you, the gas pedal, and the roar of the black asphalt rushing beneath you.
strange times are ahead. Good and bad. tragic defeats and well earned victories. And all of the kickings which come with. I am **** excited

Five days. It has been five days since I've wrote anything down.It's typical that inspiration comes when I'm furthest from the pen: driving, working, high, drunk. I'm drowning in excuses when all I need to do is attach my lazy *** to the chair and keyboard. I still haven't fixed my typewriter.
I prefer the company of girls because I've always felt distant from my father. Funnily enough - people compare us all the time. Even I can see it now, as I am writing this. I don't want to fault him. He worked hard to make my life relatively easy. But the disconnect is there.
These colt 45 cans aren't treating me very well. Neither is my empty stomach. Who cares? not me. Apathy is the plague of the millennial generation. And I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by sanity. Props to Ginsberg for that line.
The night is early and I have work at nine.
I'm going to keep on drinking this awful beer and see what happens.

Hungover
too tired to move
too anxious to stand still
the taste and smell
lingering
as malt liquor pours through pores
the sun is daggers
and every step upsets a new joint
the customers at work -
******* with dollar bills for faces
the surgeon general wouldn't advise you
to operate that motor vehicle
hungover
because some nights
have a harder time saying goodbye
than others

I'm sitting in my empty old house alone. Just me and the dogs. The air is heavy with nostalgia. I miss all the times I cursed out loud after stepping on bricks of lego. Somewhere earlier on my timeline I veered off the highway. These back roads are too dusty to always see the markings. It's not great for gas. But I think I get pretty good mileage.
It's funny how who we are can be so different from who we thought we would be as children. The drugs, the passive rage, the fear to do what must be done. I still haven't let it grip me - there's still that.
Whether it is good, bad, or ugly - **** happens. We have to learn to deal with it before we drown