(no subject)
So if I had been encouraged enough by a few certain friends and ever got ambitious enough I would write a novel that I might be afraid to write or finish but if that would ever happen the introduction would probably be exactly like this more or less,
"I was a little drunk and driving down by the beach. How strange it felt to be disconnected from everything I did. Earlier that night I had killed an ant on my pants with a beer bottle but then I let a spider scuttling down the wall next to me live. Id made a habit of driving down by the beach, late at night. Id drive a little further north every night, probably to keep some semblance of routine and novelty in my life. My speakers didnt work anymore so I did the drives in devoted silence that had its own ascetic charm of meditation and clarity. I didnt sleep much and I lived a lone. I also didnt eat well and I had been sick twice that year. It was spring now I think and it had been cold or at least cool at night, even though most years I remembered it getting hot about that time of the year. I drove with my windows down and smoked. The chill of the air had more of a calming and clearing affect on me than any cigarette ever really had. I guess I had been smoking on and off for about four years. Id tried to quit many times. I think I was almost more concerned about my teeth being stained than I was of cancer. Someone had said something about my teeth once and Id been self conscious ever since. I tried to catalogue what Id had to drink and I thought to myself how fucking stupid and menial. There was one part of the road where the reflectors were lit up. I had guessed to protect turtles trying to make it to the water. It was beautiful and graceful and a savior, more than I seemed to ever articulate or posses. After my drives late at night, I went home and habitually smoked a cigarette in bed with my window open, even if I was too drunk or tired. Last night I had taken the time to notice a framed document I had hanging next to my bed. It was my grandpas discharge from the service after W.W.II, it expressed the gratitude of the nation and was signed by President Truman. My grandpa had died the year before and I had hung it shortly after. Id thought about it for hours before I finally fell asleep. I didnt have my chance at nobility, service or honorable death like he did. I had already convinced myself when I wrote his eulogy that I hadnt yet shaped myself into any resemblance of the man he was or even my father. Then again I had no ambition to ever take a life. I had convinced myself time and time over and aided with a casual (fleeting) interest in philosophy that saving a life or lives was salvation. I assuaged myself that this sentiment was neither born of boredom or bleeding hearts. It was empirical, and well researched for 21 years that I had dedicated selflessly by being alive. I had no real train of thought on drives like these, but they were never to escape anyway, it was just routine."
"I was a little drunk and driving down by the beach. How strange it felt to be disconnected from everything I did. Earlier that night I had killed an ant on my pants with a beer bottle but then I let a spider scuttling down the wall next to me live. Id made a habit of driving down by the beach, late at night. Id drive a little further north every night, probably to keep some semblance of routine and novelty in my life. My speakers didnt work anymore so I did the drives in devoted silence that had its own ascetic charm of meditation and clarity. I didnt sleep much and I lived a lone. I also didnt eat well and I had been sick twice that year. It was spring now I think and it had been cold or at least cool at night, even though most years I remembered it getting hot about that time of the year. I drove with my windows down and smoked. The chill of the air had more of a calming and clearing affect on me than any cigarette ever really had. I guess I had been smoking on and off for about four years. Id tried to quit many times. I think I was almost more concerned about my teeth being stained than I was of cancer. Someone had said something about my teeth once and Id been self conscious ever since. I tried to catalogue what Id had to drink and I thought to myself how fucking stupid and menial. There was one part of the road where the reflectors were lit up. I had guessed to protect turtles trying to make it to the water. It was beautiful and graceful and a savior, more than I seemed to ever articulate or posses. After my drives late at night, I went home and habitually smoked a cigarette in bed with my window open, even if I was too drunk or tired. Last night I had taken the time to notice a framed document I had hanging next to my bed. It was my grandpas discharge from the service after W.W.II, it expressed the gratitude of the nation and was signed by President Truman. My grandpa had died the year before and I had hung it shortly after. Id thought about it for hours before I finally fell asleep. I didnt have my chance at nobility, service or honorable death like he did. I had already convinced myself when I wrote his eulogy that I hadnt yet shaped myself into any resemblance of the man he was or even my father. Then again I had no ambition to ever take a life. I had convinced myself time and time over and aided with a casual (fleeting) interest in philosophy that saving a life or lives was salvation. I assuaged myself that this sentiment was neither born of boredom or bleeding hearts. It was empirical, and well researched for 21 years that I had dedicated selflessly by being alive. I had no real train of thought on drives like these, but they were never to escape anyway, it was just routine."