I heard there’s two ways to get out of this town: one is a uniform; the other’s a casket. I keep wondering when it will be my time to choose this or my time to be chosen.
Will they stamp my pass or punch my ticket? Will they send me packing?
A man at rest or a man with a knapsack, trudging through the mud in some godforsaken campaign across some godforsaken place.
It’s raining here right now. I love the rain. I love to lie awake at night with the rhythmic pitter-pat jazzing it’s way across my window.
I can hear it.
I can feel it.
It’s like Miles Davis is the god of thunder and lightning.
I stand on the front porch, arms spread like Christ with the rain on my face, running down my body. Enveloped, is what I am. My glasses are fogged and my shirt is damp. I don’t care, I’m a free man.
Have you ever watched a sun set in a rain storm? I’m trying to think if I have and I am fairly certain that the answer is that I have not.
I wonder what it would look like. I’m imagining an orange and gray sky that becomes redder and blacker at the same time. I want to watch a sunset in the rain.
I’m losing myself a little more everyday. To what, I’m not exactly sure, but I feel less and less like myself. Perhaps I’m changing into another person like I change into another pair of clothese. Perhaps I’m just getting older and even more cynical.
Perhaps I’m just giving up.
I want to sit in a room full of Holden Caulfield’s and Dean Moriaty’s and interrogate them one by one.
“Show me the phonies!”
“Thumb me a ride!”
“The bell tolls, but whom is it for?”
My joints are tired and sore and I feel like I could sleep for days or even years.
I want to hibernate some winter. I want to dig a hole in the earth and sleep for many, many months.
If you’re asleep for months and months, are your dreams more real than reality? Are they more tangible? Can you learn from them? Can you fall in love? Or do you wake up with a headache and feel like you’ve been hungover for four months?
I heard there’s two ways to get out of this town: one is a command and the other’s a sentence.
Which one will you get?
Five will get ten.
Ten will get fifteen.
I’m in for sixty but I’ll be out in twenty, and the lifers won’t tell you any different. Mr. Warden, Mr. Warden can we be friends?
The circus came and went.
Winter turned into spring.
I grew two full beards and shaved them out of spite and disgust, while memories were spinning on the turntable in my bedroom into a pile of clothes sitting on the floor.
I drank every night all winter long and didn’t even think about it.
I passed out every night all winter long and didn’t even think about it.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. More than I’d care to admit.
I heard there’s two ways to get out of this town: one is rejection, the other’s acceptance.
I used to be angry. Imagine that, an angry young man. It almost seems laughable. It always seems predictable. And every now and then I’ll go back and visit.
Is that apathy or acceptance? Or is it both? Am I just tired of kidding myself?
I am tired.
I’m so tired sheep are counting me.
What do you think you would dream about while hibernating? Escape, maybe? The past? Sunsets in rainstorms? or would you maybe just sleep and not dream at all?
I’d like to know, I think.
Escape would be dramatic. Written in blood and told by fire, I imagine. Escape would be thrills. Escape would be chills. Escape would be kills.
I’m going to drive nails into the walls when I leave. I’m going to paint all the doors black. I’m going to stand on the roof and scream into the night.
Then I’ll be free.
I heard there’s two ways to get out of this town: one is a uniform, the other’s a casket.