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numb and painful struggle. current song: death or glory by the clash. now every cheap hood strikes a bargain with the world ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl love and hate tattooed across the knuckles of his hands hands that slap his kids around cause they don't understand how death or glory becomes just another story and every gimmick hungry yob digging gold from rock 'n roll grabs the mike to tell us he'll die before he's sold but i believe in this and it's been tested by research he who fucks nuns will later join the church death or glory becomes just another story year in the gun-sights they say lie low you say ok don't wanna play the show now all you're thinking was it death or glory now playing the blues of kings sure looks better now death or glory just another story from every dingy basement on every dingy street every dragging handclap over every dragging beat it's just the beat of time the beat that must go on if you've been trying for years we already heard your song death or glory becomes just another story we gonna march a long way fight a long time we got to travel over mountains got to travel over seas we gonna fight your brother we gonna fight till you lose we gonna raise trouble we gonna raise hell we gonna fight your brother raise hell death or glory becomes just another story i suppose that i could cop out and post some miserable bit that i've previously written. not that i consider anything that i've written to be good, but i tend to think that anything i've written in the last 2 years better than anything before that. maybe it's because i've expierienced more in the last 2 years than in my entire meager existance previous; my job, my marriage, and everything else - lust, love, pain, betrayal, sorrow, death, fear, doubt, anger - real emotions, and not that petty bullshit that mattered so much in high school that i thought was real. and now, at this point, all i am is tired. really and truly tired. mentally, physically; fuck, my soul is tired. and i am somehow clinging to everything i have left, tiny scraps of myself tucked inside a shoebox, collar turned up to face the cold. on my own. no, i won't post anything i've already written here. i can't. i just don't feel like searching through the weathered pages stained with coffee and cigarette ashes to find something relavent because i know that i won't - there's nothing there that will equate to this new feeling, this new person. this woman who hasn't been a girl for so very very long but has been clinging to the idea that she was. this woman whose innocence was snatched out from inside her and replaced with a void she's been filling since, and filling poorly with pills and whiskey and cigarettes and one night stands. failed relationships, failed employment, failed life. a promising future aborted by her own pain and apathy. a new begining truncated by her own weakness. and now, now i have another chance; and not one borne of desperation and harried need, a chance that's not my last one. start over, fresh and clean. but instead of running at it, arms stretched out to catch the wind, i wander slowly scared of this new dawn and what it might hold...it would be so easy to say i'm sorry and stay. it would be so easy to let this all go, and forget that any of it happened, and be miserable but safe. and i know that i can't do it. i can't. i have a life that i want to fill with so many things. i'm tired of being jealous of the things my parents have seen - i want to see them too. i don't want to rot away in this wretched corner of the globe without feeling new and uncharted earth beneath my feet. i don't want safety and security and a mortgage and a lease on a lexus, dear god i've never ever wanted that and i talked myself into it. how good it sounded to a dead broke girl who had nothing but a car and a turnpike ticket to pittsburgh. how good it sounded with every 80 pound bag i threw into an airplane. it sounded better with every paycheck blown to pay the bills and every cent left carefully rationed on ramen noodles and gas in the car and cigarettes when i could get them. i was so spoiled that i thought that was real struggle. and now i see what real pain, what real strife is. real struggle is the buck against a force to keep you miserable when all you can see is the light up ahead, and all you can taste is feedom. and that's when real life starts, when you're truly alive. i'll let you all ponder on this, as it is time for me to go to sleep, for tomorrow i must try and save the east siders from themselves. it is a harrowing task, indeed. ~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~ get your own guestbook here |
