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Cocaine Handkerchief


“I want to own a motorcycle so bad, but they are just so god damn dangerous. Yes, obviously that is part of the allure, and the stereotype, regardless I just really want to have one.” I blurt out as the cigarette gets flicked. The pretty young lady adjacent to me looks as if I am starting a conversation with her. I didn’t even notice she was there until the look hit me like a paintball in the last round.Why do people hurt me? Why do I hurt myself? Why do I hurt other people in unwarranted retaliatory rage?

The answers to those questions are worth their weight in diamonds but guess what? We don’t have diamonds or a scale. The rest is unknown. I never wanted to die. I really wanted to kill myself. The difference is massive.

I have begun to drift. The 405 headed into Santa Monica is moving slower than politicians fighting lobbyists so naturally I drift.

“I really want to travel to a far distant Island oasis. Really test my priorities, really see if I am extremely driven towards certain aspects of life because I am knee deep in the thick of it. Far away, far from here, where no one knew my name or of me at all in any sort. Would I integrate into the loose slow fitting lifestyle, write it all off as quite the journey as I fade into sleep. Or will the hunger for conquest loom over me, the overgrown bush of goals, I had since abandoned.” I am creating bone chilling ultimatums for myself, how artistic of me. The differences between those lifestyles are massive. So is the chasm between all of us, and none of us at the same time. That I know, will illustrate itself further in a few brief moments.

The first time I saw death it was in Kurt Cobain’s eyes. Funny enough, at the time he was very much alive, that dark void. That bottomless pit was calling me. The demons wanted me. I was the next recruit of the ship of the damned, a soldier of the underworld, an agent of chaos, an agent of pain…

The culture has an immediate call to itself in that regard. That’s my young take on it. We grab ice cream just a short walk down the boardwalk from where we were surfing. It’s another beautiful sunny day, why is this on my mind? How is this contrast so large? If one could achieve the true nirvana, that supreme nothingness, that in the same way makes you an all feeling, all being type of person what would that be like? How does one empathize with just about everything? Would that not create the ultimate peace, the ultimate flow state? The problems will never stop, you just understand why they are happening. Speaking the language of madness in a way. Why not let the experience drive this car, interpretations are all we know. If you were there, you were there. There wasn’t much else to it from where I was sitting. Ice cream in hand. . . .

The ice cream has since melted, yet my wild third party thoughts continue to brew. Now I begin my biography, as if the world inside my head is interviewing me for the success I have yet to achieve.


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