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The other side wants to come out. As I drink the turmoil grows, lesions pulsing with dark matter energy. This brooding wine awakens that false idol I worship, the drunken god of party down shenanigans that resides within me. Tales are being woven and spun inside my brain and memories turning up in harsh light surface for the traveling show. Bow to the audience, present the smiling facsimile face and await the ringmaster’s calls. Silly as a minstrel, poplin fresh nuggets gushing forth. I think I am therefore I am think fore. Four score on the rough.

Dredging up the past because I wish it, obsessed by it so much I spend eternal infernal hours jabbering on and recollecting shameful moments as Link with his bag of hearts. There ain’t no princess in my ballet box. I can’t stop, won’t stop, Diddy do mental projection shining brightly within; stop and gander, relive it, am it, make love to it and cry afterwards into a pool of muddled muggy abyss. Don’t I play them words nice? I’m not drunk enough. More, more libations madame missus! Need, need to feel it all over again, need to embrace former transgressions to accept my faulty fractured no refund extended warranty self. That first fools errand, the botched suicide at 14, what a mess of a mess, glaring down tracks at half speed train of release, lights blaring my existential exit, praying for oblivion and wishing skyrim. I want that sweet crack and crash of bone and metal, a metaphysical hard on for destruction. Nobody save me, please. The train stops, yelling comes from conductor’s failing lips, I stand on the precipice of my destiny taken. Time for a jump, a little one it seems, not sure if it’ll do. Broken glass and mangled body in the mind but doubts all the time. More failure; cops to the rescue. Another passing memory and on to more revelling in debauchery pastimes.

Did I forget Mr. Hyde? I’m pretty sure I did. The magical, interminable, unctuous, frumptious bastard that follows me everywhere. Always blabalabbing in my ear holes to commit wanton acts and sin sin sin. I hold back all day and night and let out little squeakers to surprised audience. Such a nice boy and what comes out of that foul mouth. Risking so much, pushing myself ever further into the gutter. I’d live there if I had the balls, amuse myself with Bender-like suicide riffs and dry tries. Oh what fun we have in present times, laughter and frivolity and what do I do but introspect and peer back in retrospect, cobbling bad times into a tapestry, montage for a purpose. Dark purposes I am so used to. Those of us with low self-esteem. Eating ourselves up and releasing venom and black liquids; bulimia obscura. But alas I am obsessed with it all, my second skin clothed in misery not seeking company. Away with thee Craigslist.

And in that midnight hour I cry more more more. Rebel yells and hells bells sounding the clarion call of basement debasement. Forgiveness? Jigga please. I only forgive in lost moments served up for consumption at the peak hours; they don’t last long, the price of admission to intermission. And the play itself, it’s an act of hate. Hate body, hate face, tear it up with slash and burn knives, wielding deathly phallic endgames. Pause and reflect. It ain’t over, no not no more, more to see, more visions awaiting. I’ve bored all my friends while I told them barely anything. I’ve bored myself yet I’m stuck repeating ad nauseum this vicious cycle recycled. 3 R’s of not letting go. It’s all I have isn’t it? What is me without me? What am me? I think…therefore I am.

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