pills bury dough boy
…i keep thinking, “i must, i must, i must have more thoughts than this” and i feel doughty roll in the soul coughing grave. there is no reason for me to have more thoughts than i have — i am not that special-edition collector’s-item version of myself that i used to be.
these girls last night told me they have binders full of the old thoughts, the old “songs”, poems, etc. nothing but depressing, that. who would want to keep that shit? burn it…but show it to me first. if there’s any first editions in there, i’ll kill for the copies. why? they’re worthless as the digital versions — less so, illegible as i’m sure they are.
even worse: the bags of old notes they described. with my terrible angst of yetseryear. i declared: “it’s a damn cool thing that even if that angst still exists, we all know how to deal with it better these days.”
julie: “it sure is. if you couldn’t deal with it better it’d be like you didn’t learn anything over the past 7 years.”
think about that: 7(+) years ago, we might have sat around, all worried about covering our portions of the check, unable to deal with the self-destructive terror built up inside.
worst of all: dani says, “I remember you punched a tree because of some girl.”
i could only reply: “i’ve punched a lot of things about a lot of girls.”
and worse than that? i still do. but not so much over girls anymore, though i’m sure that’ll come to pass again.
said i: “I only have one button that people push. It’s labeled ‘stupidity’ and people keep slamming the thing.”