The All of Sum Parts (67 of 90)

Living my life in a slow hell / Different girl every night at the hotel / I ain’t seen the sun shine in three damn days

The world is re-shaping itself around me these days and I have realized – or re-realized – that I’m on the outside looking in. A face pressed against the glass, staring longingly and oddly at those inside.

Trying to understand them. As if there is an “understand-able” nature to the people inside.

I’ve written about becoming detached from the lives I see around me. That process speeds up every day. This isn’t a bad thing. Just a thing that is.

I don’t lament it. Mostly. But I find it interesting. I understand the scientists desire to poke and prod the things in front of him, to de-construct them and piece the puzzle together.

The parts. The sum. The all.

Been fueling up on cocaine and whiskey / Wish I had a good girl to miss me / But I wonder if I’ll ever change my ways


I have lost interest in trying. For now, anyway. The exhaustion is real, of course, but not the problem.

At a certain point, you simply must walk away from the Wall.

I face a weird dilemma with this decision these days. I question myself more. Parsing out what is normal and healthy from what is…not.

I don’t have these answers readily because, when the dust settles, isn’t all disappointment about expectation?

Which is just the unfair-ness of ones self projected on someone else? Or is there a real-ness to the unfair-ness, a place where people do actual harm to the point the anger and the hurt and the leaving is justified?

There are new questions with me, like walking on melting ice blocks on top of a warm river.

I was off to drink you away


I look back on my life, the choices I made, and wonder if they could have played out any differently.

Or if nearly two years ago while peeling myself off the jail cell floor, abandoned and alone, I made the wrong decision imagining I could change my life.

I fit into that Other world. If not comfortably. Not un-comfortably.

Today, I am less convinced that I will ever truly move through this new world as anything other than an outsider. A frightened traveler who tries to pass by looking conspicuously normal. Engaged in a reality play.

The Matrix.

Until the time I can fade away, back someplace else. Darker. More comfortable. More recognizable.

Thought about you for a long time / Can’t seem to get you off my mind / I can’t understand why we’re living life this way


The question ultimately becomes one of measures. Specifically and personally.

Two thoughts resonate in my head in these matters. Words said jokingly and without thought I am sure. Which is the dangerous thing about words. The stay, and morph, and turn.

They are the glue of my life, my worshipped things. And I carry them with me even if I don’t tell you:

“I think you were a much better person before you began trying to be this other thing.”

“Because I know too much about your past.”

There are races that cannot be won, I suppose. Only run. Until there is nothing left.

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