I'm Back....Sorta.

Life is changing. Gotten older...and understanding that good health isn't guaranteed. Whatever the case, I'm trying to break the habit of enjoying other people's art and get back to creating my own. I consider this a valiant effort to begin again. I've fucked around and written a few tracks but haven't mustered up the courage to drop lyrics. I'm not ready to open that Pandora's box and come face to face with the failures, the hopes, and dashed dreams of a life I was certain would have taken a different path. I really don't want to ruin the ending of the movie but it's all an illusion. Life, here today-all illusion. I think about all the nebulous plans I let course through my brain-always focusing on the destination and ignoring the journey. All bullshit...even the destination.

I love to write But I don't like to read what I write. Actually that's a lie-I love to read what I write. What I don't like is the filter. Filter you ask? That part of me that information passes through and causes my emotions to start firing in sync with the synapses in my brain. You relive every moment with varying levels of intensity.

Right about now I'd like to say something self-loathing and dramatic like, "Fuck my life" or something equally as ridiculous but I'll spare everyone the unnecessary over-dramatization of my deluded existence. If I focus, I'm mean really hard, I can see the silver lining. I fucked some good pussy and, after all, isn't that one of the main reasons we're here? To fuck. I think this is the first time in my writing 'career' that I've said something so vile as 'I fucked some good pussy'. At this juncture, I don't really give a shit anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a fuck anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a damn anymore. Get the picture? I really don't care anymore. So I'll say what ever the fuck comes to mind. I'll sum it up for you: I'm middle-aged, fucking broke and in a relationship I can't manage to make any sense of. And honestly, the one thing that really bothers me is being broke. I burned through my escape fund trying to increase my escape fund and now I'm stuck. Yeah, whatever.

Fuck my life? Nah...Not yet. I'm still in the midst of defining it. Not quite ready to call it a colossal failure yet. I'm still analyzing it-picking it apart and trying to place things neatly into perspective-you know, like a movie. But if you were allowed to read the cliff-notes of my entire existence the picture wouldn't be so pretty. They say the devil's in the details-in this case, my salvation is to be found when you read between the lines but no one seems to care enough to pay attention. They want the quick and dirty-and then on to the next thing, all the while muttering to themselves, "At least my life isn't that fucked up." Hey buddy, yes it is. You're just still being deluded by your own illusion. Tomorrow you're me-living with one last feeble hope for redemption.

Did I have fun? To quote the former Alaskan governor, "You betcha!" But it wasn't fun I was after-fun was diametrically opposed to what I was attempting to accomplish. I played the part. Tried to be the responsible one and hold it all together while my significant others never really gave a fuck about me or what I was attempting to accomplish. I was the dude that kept the lights on. I tried to do the 2.5 kids, white picket fence, etc. But everyone saw through the illusion but me. I wondered why they thought I was after something else. It was a con, wasn't it? I couldn't possibly believe in the illusion could I? Yeah, I did. I wanted to be someone my loved ones would be proud of. But I don't think you can plan other people's impression of you. I think it would have been better for me not to really give a shit about what anyone thought and went for whatever it was I wanted in life. And if in the end they were proud, it would be the cherry on top-not the entire dessert.

So now here I am, left holding a memory bank filled with busted dreams and life's lessons learned. Lessons no one seems to care to benefit from. Everyone's too preoccupied with their own illusions to believe anything I have to say. So why do I bother? Because time is precious and to waste it chasing illusions seems like a sin to me; like the worst imaginable crime.

In the end it won't be so difficult to admit I allowed myself to buy into the illusion. But right now the very thought of it all stings like salt water in an open wound and it's last call for alcohol and life has presented me with the bar tab-time to pay up. And I'm asking myself, 'Where did the evening go?' Was it worth it? Someone else will have to decide because at this juncture, I don't really give a shit anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a fuck anymore. At this juncture, I don't give a damn anymore. It is what it is-it was what it was. And to worry about any of it is simply a waste of time. Are you geting the picture?