picking bones is less fun than you would think. though it is slightly more enticing than licking wounds. so what do we have to say for ourselves besides “sorry and thanks for the practice.”? well, honestly? nothing. yeah, so, what did you expect? we’re the type of few words. “the more the merrier.” isn’t exactly tattooed on our chest. if pressed, we pleat. there are always creases. there are always places for things to settle and get stuck and take root and grow. moss gathers like flies on shit around here. who’s going somewhere? you? me? anyone? can i at least see the one hand from the guy who wasn’t paying complete attention and misunderstood the question? nothing? alright then i guess we’ll be trying to move on. only metaphorically of course. as i mentioned before we’re not going anywhere. we’ve peaked. we’ve made it. though not exactly in the hollywood sense. it’s just that there really is nowhere else to go at this point. there’s a party or two but we’ve been too many times before and we know exactly who will be there and how things will go down and end up. so what’s the point? to be social? personally, my thoughts sound better when they just echo back to me from inside my head than when they are parroted back to me by someone who isn’t paying attention (and if they were would they really have anything to offer?) because they are just as bored as me and all the alcohol and pills and snorts and smokes in the world couldn’t make them or me even slightly more interesting or any less predictable. even the “maybe“‘s and “might“‘s are well known and not at all exciting to think about or wait for. life goes on without actually going anywhere and our positioning in the universe doesn’t help our perspective and so here we are holding hands and thrashing the bushes thinking about clint eastwood and wishing someone had a shredd of doubt or a nice flute solo (or recorder or whatever) tuned up and ready to blow. but i guess it’s just another twist off night. and if we’re lucky we won’t have any dreams.
