The written word
is a powerful tool
but it is us
it is Us who choose
to deceive
and believe.

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Friday, April 08, 2011
*
All We Need Is Love And Beer
I need a beer. And I need you with me. I need you to tell me I'm being stupid, and slap me silly to make me see the sense in things again. I need you to be sensible for me because for some reason i am suddenly unable to. Is it because I fell from that infernal stunt a coupleof months ago? Is it the sleepless nights, all the alcohol I've ingested? I don't know what the reason is, but for some reason I feel very very stupid. I know it, but I can't keep myself from acting on it, from doing idiotic things that I know are idiotic. I need you to slap the sense into me. The way you always used to do.

You said I could depend on you for that, didn't you? You said I can always depend on you for that. Where are you now then? Too busy. You're all talk, as usual. But then, everyone is. Such beautiful, empty words. The truth is, no matter what anyone, no matter what everyone says, the only one who would look after me is myself. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, I can handle this on my own. I have to handle this on my own, because people don't really care about what's happening to me. Scratch that. People don't really care what what's happening's doing to me. What they care about, what they want to know is what's happening. Because that's how people are. they say curiosity killed the cat, but I say the cats' curiosities are killing me. Because they don't listen. They judge even before the story is halfway told.

And I really don't want to think about any of this so I was thinking of getting drunk with you the way we always used to whenever one of us had a problem or even if no one did, but oh well.

Anyway, even if you showed up outside my house with a case of beer and we drowned my sorrows in alcohol the way we drowned our inhibitions almost one year ago that night at the pool, it won't matter. It's too late. You're a couple of weeks too late darling. Nothing can undo this. Not even you.




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The Writer
wishful thinking
I write about the things i remember in the hopes that i may forget.

The author reserves the right to deviate from the truth.
I may be making up stories.
I may be lying.
I may be hallucinating.
I may be dreaming.
BEWARE!

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