(moot in the steeple)

My brain is that brat in the corner screaming insults at the wall just trying to get a rise from the cobwebs of memory he's sure might one day pay off in murky spades he knows he'll only use to dig his own unmarked grave.

I have wasted every minute of this day and i can't see as i give a shit considering in twelve hours i'll be (god willing this fucking rain abates long enough to get me on my way) sitting on plane, biting my nails and wondering why the fuck it is i ever bother to leave the city.

I'm not a very good flyer.

And right now i'm only half-packed, chain-smoked and shaking just enough to stay awake because i worry in the morning i'll forget.

Anything.

Everything.

Who i am. where i'm going. what the hell it is that keeps me time again believing i might save the world if stumbled on the right chance.

It's been three years since that particular resolution crossed my lips and i'd like to think that, somehow, some fucking way i'm actually here working on it but these days have been so fucking lazy it's amazing i'm still breathing. that i just haven't atrophied in this dusting chair. grown into these stained keys that haven't given life to a damn thing in ages but these wasted blurts of an inchoate daze.

Maybe texas will give them something to tap about.

Like finally being a son...