REASONS TO LOVE THE FUTURE
Good. Morning. A costume party, a bottle of well whiskey, a 12-pack of PBR. Guitar solos in a tower, extreme feelings of pity, my finger bleeding and bleeding, crowding into Westlands at midnight like we were at a mother fucking rock show. I had one of the most glorious days of my life yesterday--Central P, the History Museum (squid+whale), the Village--but I'm still a little shook up from last night. I know that I knew coming back here would be hard, hurtful; and the first week was mostly a dream (an exhausting dream, a weepy dream). Now something sets in: logic or the past couple years, love or lack there of? I can't understand where this now-or-never mentality originated; writing people and h/h ideas off. Fuck this shit. I think I'll traipse down to Coney Island in a few hours. It seems a good idea, to go to History, or the ocean. When things get tough. When the going gets tough. I'll keep on with skills, taking deep breaths, letting go. It will be necessary to be considerably more guarded, I reckon. Nothing has changed here. Don't get mad, don't get mean. I got all my classes, yey; I came here to get all my classes. I think there is still some glass embedded in my finger.