My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

He lays down, cold and alone, a thousand thoughts in his head, and nothing to say. How he got there doesn’t matter. He can’t stay awake. He closes his eyes, and hopes to wake somewhere nice.

This blog needs to be better, just like I need to be better.

So, Friday morning a few lines bounced into my head, they felt like the beginning of a short story. I don’t feel like a particularly good fiction writer, and lately not like much of a writer of anything, but I put down eighty-five words Friday afternoon, and they’ve turned into almost two-thousand. It’ll end up the longest fiction I’ve ever written, I’m just not sure when I’ll get to that end. It just keeps going.

I hope it doesn’t suck, but I don’t know. I mean, anything has the potential to suck, but we have to try anyway.

So, Monday evening I drank enough bourbon to kill a small pony, and had to visit the e.r. I’ve done similarly before, and I suppose those other times didn’t particularly affect me. I never really openly talk about these things, but this time is different. ترتيب البوكر Liquor’s been this really fun thing that various people have told me I “can’t” have, which is a lot of why I kept at it, and generally, aside from a few incidents over a few years, I’ve been fine. Still, before Monday I was thinking about giving it up, or really cutting back, or giving it up. I couldn’t decide. I just kept thinking that liquor hasn’t been fun for awhile. I mean, you feel great for two hours, everything’s all perfect, then you come down and feel like shit. I’d been hearing Kurt sing, “My heart is broke, but I have some glue. Help me inhale, mend it with you. We’ll float around, and hang out on clouds, then we’ll come down, and have a hangover…” Every time I drank something. جدول سباق الخيل It fit so perfectly. Drinking, quite often, was something I did  to turn off my head, to mask depression, or boredom, or both. I’d been thinking about that before I did what I did Monday, before I went and drank enough bourbon to kill a small pony.

I blacked out, woke up in the e.r. I woke up and thought, “Oh God, I fucked up.” It hit me just how stupid it was to wake up in that way. I finally thought about who I’d have hurt if I hadn’t managed to wake up. العاب كازينو مجاني I don’t want to hurt those people. I don’t want to hurt a pair of beautiful brown eyes that I love so much. I don’t want to hurt myself. So, I’m done with the drinking, because I genuinely want to be done with it. I tried it for long enough, it’s absolutely no fun anymore. There are definitely better ways to handle boredom and melancholy. I hit the bottom, I didn’t like it.

I wish I could write one Goddamn fucking decent thing, rather than all this Goddamn fucking nothing.

You have your masks, you wear them everyday. Masks cover your walls, you take them down to cover you, so you can be who you need to be. Happy masks, funny masks, masks to cover the sad and the suicide. Masks to cover the empty and the lonely. The masks are heavy, they make you tired. You hate that you need them, or maybe you hate everything they hide. Maybe it’s both, you’re too frayed to know. So many masks you can’t think straight, so many masks you don’t want to wear.

So many Goddamn fucking masks, killing you without killing you.

So, I saw it there on the bar, scribbled in pencil on a scrap of paper, stuck under a dead shot glass. العاب اندرويد The place was dark, filled with smoke and people, people having a better time than me. I’m not really sure how I noticed it, or why I bothered to pick up that glass to read what I read. لعب قمار حقيقي It was just there, someone’s thought, someone’s prayer, stuck under a dead shot glass, written on a dying scrap of paper. Just two lines, just a nothing of a prayer.

I want to be next to you right now, you so close, my hand touching your face. كيف تربح المال من النت I want to kiss you slow, I want to tell you I love you with the voice in my head.

I put it back, left it there. I wonder if it ever ended up where it was supposed to go.

In my head, there had been three perfect zombie movies, 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead (2004) and Shaun of the Dead. After tonight, however, my list is up to four thanks to the surprising awesomeness of Zombieland. Zombieland tells the story of four survivors living in a world of blood-thirsty victims of a terrible virus, and falls into the genre of “horror comedy,” which always worries me a little. Bad horror can be really funny, but bad comedy is always just flat out bad. Fortunately, Zombieland does everything right. It’s stylishly violent, sometimes scary, but also very funny, and very warm.

To me, the great zombie movies aren’t really about zombies, they’ve about people, people facing the end and trying to cope with death that could happen at any moment. People don’t generally think of death as something that could happen tomorrow, or right now. People are almost child-like about death. Death is something that happens to other people, or when you’re “really old.” People stay in shit jobs, worry about schedules, have petty arguments over things that don’t matter, they don’t spend time enough with people they love, because there’s always time to live differently. Zombies strip away ridiculous constructs and the delusional idea that there’s always time to be happier or say to that someone who feels like home, “I love you.” Zombies are a death that everyone can see, and smell, they’re not a vague notion of something that will happen “eventually.” When death is banging bloody hands on the door, people get their priorities straight. Survival and being with those we care about, nothing else is important. Zombieland captures all of this with dark humor, bloody violence, and genuine tenderness.

If zombies showed up tomorrow, I know right where I’d want to be. Do you?

There’s this line from The Dark Knight, the Joker says, “I believe whatever doesn’t kill you simply makes you stranger.” I don’t really like the movie, but Heath Ledger’s Joker is a brilliant character. That particular line seems very true to me. Trauma leads to cracks that shape people differently. My blog documents my cracks, cracks that keep getting deeper. It documents me getting stranger, and getting better at writing about it. Still, I’m not broken, there’s still something left of me.

No, I can’t do what I said below, that’s just stupid . I might be a lot of really awful things, but I’m not stupid. I realized that I’d rather write until all four engines flame out than not. Even if everything I have to write is bad, that’s better than absolutely nothing. العاب اون لاين مجانا