Give Me Time To Live It Up...

 Whoa, the postmaster has rung thrice this month so far. Vacation nearly over. Not really missing work. Not ready to put the silly nose back on just yet...
Ugh. Ever seen that movie where Nicolas Cage can go through the motions of daily life, and if'n he doesn't like it...
He can go back. I think it's called Next. I know I saw it, and probably posted on it here back in the day. Interesting concept, except I'd use and abuse the fuck out of it. I guess in the end I'd make an early save point where I could pretty much live out a life, and go back and second guess every second guess of every second guess. I'm pretty sure it'd be like back when I'd read those Choose Your Own Adventure type books as a child. I'd be too scared to commit to my choice, and would hold as many pages as I had fingers to be able to go back to a safe place. I guess that describes me to a tee...

Except you might as well throw in a dash of anarchy, balanced with a healthy smidgeon of fatherly, out of date wisdom. I wonder if everyone, or if anyone, wrestles with the giant pink baby of our fucked up coexistence. Would they bother to change a diaper, or lovingly coo at its initial fumblings with flatulence for an afternoon, let alone a measely fifteen minutes whilst I runs to da corner sto'...?
I used to think I was hurtling headlong into some sort of cataclysmic what ever the fuck, but boy...
Was I wrong?
I used to not have to rethink my thoughts in print, yet now I do. Was that last one really a question?
Wow. You know, I can't believe I let it all slide. I guess when it's gradual, you don't really notice the end result as hard.
And it helps the alternate reality your pride wants to remember to remain intact.
Imagine a future world where it all doesn't matter, all that makes you want to be a part of, be a working cog in the machinary spinning douchebaggery of...
It all dissipates, and then you wake to find you're still a babe in the woods.
And the horrifying story is even yet to be... uhhhh, beheld?
I truly understand how the true genius is never truly appreciated until well after the old ipso facto. I mean dead dead deadsky. Remember all those reports we used to have to do on Mozart and the other old wig wearing fools...
In the end they will all fade to nothingness as we all do in the end in the end in the end...
I want what this has turned into to end. I want the merriment to begin. I want the flagons to be filled, I want the confetti, I want the confetti...
I want a hero's return. I want the bards to recant earlier song with epic redemption of soul. I want to be the guy. I dream of walking among the masses and dealing out the judgement that they deserve. I dream the impossible dream. There are worse things, sadly enough, than the Rape of Nanking.
It is called the crime of nonchalance, the disregard...
Of all that is right and good.
I think the brightest stars burn for the longest time and give us a shitload of luminescence. The rest of us shine for awhile and then explode in a fiery explosion of explosive poo-ness.
I can't wait to reread this to myself and then forget it...
Nahhhhhhhhh......................
I know nothing of your life. I couldn't even presume to. I wish I was part of it. I hate that "another life" bullshit.
I also hate the old I wish I was your daddy but...
It'd be different anyway.
Wouldn't it?
In the end I'd win.
And you'd love me.
Didn't Hitler feel/think the same?
I'm truly living in the wild muthafuckin' west.