“Yeah, man… Yeah…”
It would all take off when you are on something to begin, but since it is always so, it makes no difference how you describe it. The associations that pattern, the grouping of lines and stories and dreams scenarios mix and burn and smolder and ash from the window of the car, driving all night through the desert. The inevitable end of the world always rides shotgun, but it is not unlike the post-apocalyptic scenario you dream of. They can not decide what your imagination orgasm more, thinking about the end or the story of what is going to be all over. The importance of bleeding in the head, the question of the irrelevance of all the little everyday things that burn in the fire of nuclear disaster situations. The full clarity in the face of death. The nameless, faceless many ideas, the ideals that up high in the sky in your head that you crane your neck all day to provide insight into how stars in the night sky or bombs, in the head, bells tolling system for you and all the other … the parade on ideas like queens and PROM town’s mayor in 50 Chevy convertible.
It is always the feminine ideal, the beautiful, artistic, literary, neurotic girl / woman / Virgin / whore. Their beauty burns, offers up jealousy, even though the ideal is in your head and there’s nobody to be jealous, but not even that which prevents you from feeling the green. She is the Jane Gallagher, never at home, if you have it or you’re too drunk to communicate Goddam Dirty Little thought, if it is at home. It is the Beatrice, dead and gone but not forgotten, lost and gone, alive and well and living in a truck stop town in the head next to Elvis and Andy Kaufman. There are different shades of gray, the pages from your past and future, and good and bad and old and new. They claim that they could serial killers or crazy successful and suicidal thoughts or rich and famous and lonely or stupid or paranoid and delusional and totally happy or strange combination of conventions, you can not control. Best friend / worst enemy you leave and have been meaning to call and deal with if it is not only ruin your releasing them or vilifying or sanitizing or awarded. The expectations of a proud people who knew your potential thousand times about the high sang songs of praise for your skills, but no longer around to help you meet. It’s all up to you, alone in the middle of the desert, where your car broke down and ran from dreams to smoke and choke on the cloud of burning plant material.
But you can not not be happy, if only because it is nothing else to be felt. Eupathy by process of elimination. Simplify, vilify, a situation which would justify their own ends at the end. Roadtrip that you have in the pursuit of what you have lost, while the rest of your luggage bleeding from the open back door of the vehicle. Describe your feelings in words, you are not habituated to use with people you normally do not talk to dead people or that you do not normally see or voices that you do not often hear in your head as you head further into the vast emptiness of the blank pages of paper and illusion of infinity, but it exists only in theory or in the checkout lines in grocery stores. Feel the burn, scratch out scribbled lines in the words you use to define meaning, tie and evisceration of the concrete abstract Demigods mirages that you pretend prevail over your mental day to day. Every day is a disaster, say it five times more for a perfect measure. Bitter sweet swooning vocals of burns and hair out of your hands, because you let the fire takes too long. They hate that you do not hate you because you yourself have never made a mistake, just a mistake, the masochist fantasies fulfilled and always look on-the-bright-side-of-Life-sing-along sessions and euphoric or embarrassment else apathetic intellectual masturbation or your opinion of the person concerned or procrastinating the things that you would rather not do. Revolving door of intellectual wheel to believe freewheels back where you started your opinion. Burning beauty, money burning, burning music and crazy manic episodes of all these things live, that your head, mixing them as cocktail lounge bartender in Bad tie and white T-shirts she bought from Walmart. Or whatever word suffices to say the things that you can not quite the right way tonight.