Wednesday, 10 April 2013

A Painted Face.

I painted my face for you today.

I hope you notice, but I don't think you will. I paint my face for you all the time and you never notice. You take my painted face for granted. You think it's my real face. You force it to be. You'll only notice if I don't paint it.

I dressed up for you today.

I know that you won't notice. You think these are my clothes, you think this is who I am. That these clothes are mine, and not yours. You think that I want to wear them. You think that I want to wear them for you. You think I define myself by the standards that you have set up for me.

I have never not painted my face.

I have never not dressed up.

I do not know whose fault it is.

I didn't know who I was again; for you today. If you noticed, you kept it to yourself. You allowed it to happen for reasons beyond my own reasoning. If I knew who I was, would you still be here? Would I want to be? If I was me, would you still be you?

I don't want to paint my face.

I don't want to dress up.

I want to know who I am.

Waste of Time

I have spent, in my life, more time than I would like to admit, imagining what it would feel like to be stabbed in the back, near or directly(if I knew anatomy better) the kidney.  Now, that I'm sitting here in a back alley, holding my stomach, as my own blood pours out of me, it would appear that those imaginings were; a complete waste of time.

It probably looks like a movie, even though it doesn't feel like a movie. If that makes any sense. I'm sure it does, you've seen movies right? You've also been alive? Then you know what I mean. 

I wasn't supposed to be stabbed. I bet you could figure out that that wasn't part of my plan.

I just wanted to have an adventure.

I'm nothing special, I have no access to any valuable information, I have nothing to do with government, or power or anything cool or flashy. I have a degree in Sociology. I keep two regular Joe jobs. I didn't and don't, have a need to do all that much with my life. I just wanted to live it.

I watched too many movies I guess, and I supposed that; though I didn't want to accomplish much with my life, I did want it to be exciting. So, for fun, I grew a pot plant. And then I sold it to my friends. It wasn't very good. I'm not much of a gardener. I'm not like the guy from Breaking Bad or anything. Plus I think he does something other than pot.

I live in a small city, there are a lot of drugs, and none of them are all that high quality. It's all kind of shitty, so when I gave my own small amount of shitty weed to my friends, guess what happened? They loved it. They loved it so much they wanted more. And they told more and more people about it. So I started growing a whole bunch of weed in my apartment, and selling it to friends, who would sell it to other people.

It was really easy. And it was exciting. I don't know if you've ever broken the law, but I highly recommend it. Lots of fun. Keep in mind though, I'm telling you this while I'm dying in a back alley. I'm sure you could guess that the two are related. Drug dealers don't get stabbed in back alleys for no reason right?


I'm running out of time here, I don't think anyone's coming for me. I don't think I can keep up telling you this story. Blood loss and all. I think this is it. I didn't love enough, I didn't give enough. I'm not sure it has to do with this mistake or not, but maybe it was all the mistakes I made that led to this one that did it. I hope I get to do it all again. I kind of do look like the guy from Reservoir Dogs. That's neat right? Nothing to write home about, I guess...