asleep at the wheel.
Well, I'm here.
That says a lot, because really, I haven't been around lately. I'm uninspired, unmotivated and unmoved. Nothing even speaks to me anymore like the way it used to. It makes me tired of thinking about what could happen, instead of thinking about what is happening. Maybe I'm becoming a pessimist, but I could never admit it. You're only four and a half feet away. I hope you can't hear the frantic typing, because it means maybe you'll care and want to know what's up. Nothing is up. I'm a bit dishevelled, and a bit worn out. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I am diabolical. I heard that in a movie once; a diabolical plan, a diabolical scheme, a diabolical plot to shoot the protagonist. I possess no admirable character traits. This may come as a shock to some, but I actually enjoy this town. There is absolutely nothing to do, nothing to see, nowhere to go, and nobody to watch but it is everything I'll ever need because I've got a handful of friends and a good chance. The air is a bit stale in here, and I can hear voices discussing a crazy toronto scene and an overprotective mother. I need to move on, move over and move out. But we'll have to wait and see how far I get with that attitude. Moreso, I have to wait until I mature a bit. Frankly, I am as mentally stable as a sixty two year old house fly. All I need are some sparks to ignite something inside of me. I need a reason to go.
This is not an opinion essay. It is contrived, overrated, and to the point. There is no room for error or passion, nor is there space for heartfelt prose. You may not write poetry. You may not write stories. You may not let an ounce of creativity spill onto this page. The ink will be black and the paper will be white. There are no colours, feelings or motion. There are only shades and extremes; spectrums and scales. Everything must be balanced. There may not be bias, perception or instinct involved. You may not have a sense of purpose, nor a sense of belonging. There are no opportunities for success. This is not to make you happy. There is no emotion.
Now that I got that out of my system, it's time to dance. I don't even dance, so I don't know what I'm talking about. He thinks I'm too loud and obnoxious. I'm keeping him up. Shut up, bitch. You don't know a thing about compassion or empathy. You're an empty glass bottle and a hollow frame. If I need to say it again, I'm afraid something may spontaneously combust. Chat, talk, converse. That's a shoe, you know. With a different emphasis on the syllable, of course. All I talk is English. Mind you, I'm not from England, nor am I into grammar. I am obviously lying.
There's nothing else left for me here but a lonely chord and a voiced chorus. Save me, save me, save me. That's how he says it. Real loud and powerful. This is just another chance to prove you're much too good for someone like me. I'm not one to be missed; only dismissed. That's in a song. I reference too much which makes this all sound like one big lie. Is the opposite of a white lie, a black lie? That doesn't really sound proper, but who is to debate it. Nobody would even question something as miniscule or as unimportant as that, unless they had absolutely no time on their hands, or no head on their shoulders. I suppose I'm going to have to decide which trait defines me. If I pick one, then the other one might feel left out.
What the fuck am I talking about.
So, I've run out of ideas. I'm uncreative and art class is over and the only shred of confidence I have left lies in the hands of an unprofessional physics teacher in jeans and pinstriped tops, whose wife shops for him. He says "I'm just kidding" a lot. He marks well and gives easy tests. He has a nice speaking voice. But, for god sakes, that man wouldn't know history if it backhanded him. I suppose we'll make due. He can mumble about the economic crash on October 29th, 1929, for as long as he needs to in order to be reassured that he's doing a good job. We bought him a hot chocolate once; I think he appreciated it. I could be very wrong. Maybe he just feels bad for the people who have no future. I know I do.
This is getting to a point where I'm beginning to think none of this is going to make sense. I wrote in a book once, that I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. I don't know why, because I have never taken an interest in architecture. Maybe it's because Paris is the city of love. Who knows. It is so typical to think that if someone ventures into the great unknown of another country on another continent, that they will fall in love perfectly under a foreign sky, with the worlds greatest architectural masterpiece towering overhead like an archway to a flawless existence. I wonder if anyone has ever truly fallen in love. Does it even exist? Can someone be in such an endless state of pure, unfiltered happiness? If they can, then those are the people I admire; those are the people I aspire to become. I don't need anything else but love.
Please shine down on me.
Someone used to sing that to me. Nobody ever sings to me anymore. That's all I ever wanted; a personal songbird. A friend with endless melodies to lull me to sleep. I guess it was too much to ask; I am the songbird. Would I trade it in for someone who could sing for me? Maybe. Most people wouldn't believe me if I said yes, so I'll leave it undecided. I kind of feel like someone is butchering my intestines. It's all this thinking; it's got me worked up, I think. Probably not. I think all the time. I'm one of those paranoid people who have a calm, relaxed surface. I was hoping you'd come visit me and glance at all these words. Maybe then you'd know that I had something to say. But, I'll leave you be. We don't need to crowd. I must say though, it's getting mighty cold in here. I could use a second heartbeat and some body heat to up my temperature to three hundred degrees. Why did that have to rhyme so well?
There are 29 minutes left until I make one of those wishes that are never going to come true. I don't know why I do it, but I continuously count the minutes until the numbers match and the clock tells me it's time to delve into my deepest desires and pick one to place the spotlight on. I don't know her number. 36920. Yeah, that's it. I'm really sorry I've let you down. I just don't know better, I guess. I'll learn if you want me to. I'll be anything I have to be to catch your eye; to capture your attention; to invade your thoughts. I don't think I have a chance, though. You're too worried about everything else to even be concerned about something so insignificant.