April 6, 2011

Forgetting can be fun.

Between the booze, coffee, depression, anxiety, old faces, new faces, old faces made new again, old faces staying lovably old, comics, disappearing, reappearing, seeing the best gig ever, being stone deaf forever, massage, smoking, not smoking, smoking, meds not working, doctors visits, going blind, out of reach somewhere in the vaseline,  working in a call centre, playing indoor soccer, falling down on my ass, my front, being hit in the nuts, head, face, stomach, hands and legs, holding together by sheer luck or just hopeful tomorrow gets better, punishing myself, laughing, confronting, affronting, I forgot.

The breeze feels good on my skin, few people around and very little traffic. The side streets are a mix of well lit and pitch black. Roads are fairly smooth and the bike seat creaks. Headphones play, but even still when I turn my head to the side I can hear the noises between the silence and the breeze. It’s different, theres no regret or pining, I feel alive. There is no depression or anxiety. Pedals keep turning, the upper legs burn. Sweat covers my face and back. Darkness makes me alert, the dark clothing makes me fearless. Stars twinkle and my smile is perfect and content.


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