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Feb 2012
Fleet Foxes are on, doing their melodic folky thing,
And I’m sitting writing here, taking large swings
of fire breathing liquor,
if only to forget her.
       And it’s alright,
       It’s ok.

We kissed on the mouth in the moonlight
during the 11th hour of the
11th day of the
11th month of the
11th year of the
twenty first century,

      And everything was alright,
      Everything was ok.

But now I write letters to you that you will never read,
That I’ll never even again, I may print and burn them
(If I ever feel the need),
But I think I’ll start writing to myself now,
At least I may listen and take heart to what I say,  
Anything at all to keep you and the demons away.

What a madness everything is!
I think so with a wicked smile.
If you’re the *** of the joke and everyone is laughing,
May as well laugh along.
But to tell you the truth,
The punchline,
We’re all in the same sinking life raft.
And the people who know  are considered the crazy,
The mad the suicidal the outcasts
But it’s obvious that they know they are on
A sinking life raft,
Why else would they panic if we shook the boat a little?

        And think of all the ethics, look at religion, philosophy,
I need an atheist Bible *******,
        One surely must exist,
Something nice to get a more concise
idea of this stupid world I’m trapped in,
Because I’m a sucker and I believe in my animal bones that things will get better
even though the evidence is all pointing in the opposite direction,
like how everyone believes that woman will want me,
Even though the evidence is pointing the other way.

      So **** it, I’m heading north,
      Get a job in Alaska and make money
      Even though I’ll have no way to spend it,
      Except maybe on hookahs and ****,
      Ha, what I stupid life that would be.

Isn’t it all rather stupid?
Philosophy is my only constant friend, and it believes
that we build things out of nothing, quantum things,
But I’m starting to believe that as human beings,
We do this to ourselves, we build nothing
out of something,
assuming we don’t blow it up
in the first place.
Written by
Blake Bumpus
585
 
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