all the drugs

sitting at this job that started recreational and has become routine. once the pressure of PAY RENT/GET A JOB is removed, others fall in line to take its place. less tangible concerns, more abstract anxiety. is the slight pain in my neck a sign of impending death? old age? lying awake at night, eyes wide the fuck open, thinking about towns and states and countries and streets and memories and fading ambitions, dying for a cigarette but i don't smoke anymore. forcing myself to look in the face of my worry, no longer able to hide behind a cloud of distracting smoke. decide that caffeine is much better, start pounding dew at first, followed by more potent elixirs. all tweaked out and skittish, mind darting, FUCK. just want to lie down but it's four in the afternoon and that would be a DISASTER. put some boots on and rove around, looking for a way to spend some money. end up buying a retarded hat or some ill-fitting pants, maybe a jacket or some more soda.

whatever. still always filled with this powerful bucking PUSH against bland, against blind acceptance of tradition, against thoughtless bulljazz. i want to puke all over most things, attempt to demonstrate my overall disgust. but i am somehow, with everything i have right now, able to swallow it back and move on. little gestures: pink nail polish, fuck it all, never give in.


or something. mostly everything is fine. but we DO NOT have to be lawncare professionals. our supposed complacency doesn't have to extend beyond vegetable purchases to ironed shirts.

xoxo,
j lo