See You in Hell, Daniel Webster

01JUN06 – Midnight. It’s early, or maybe it’s late. Depends on your perspective, really. Got paid fifteen minutes ago, celebrating with a cigarette on my tiny porch, watching the rain claw half-heartedly at the smoke while hot chemicals invade my bloodstream, all the while wishing I had something stronger to wrap myself around, but you know what they say about wishing in one hand… Solitude is a hard won ally, one who never puts down the knife.

Not exactly a day to live in infamy – I had a headache that refused to die, so I ate enough aspirin to dissuade a charging horse and drank coffee until things looked normal without squinting. It bothers me that good writing comes so slowly to me now, and I cannot help but ask – are the Fun Times truly gone? All my life, I’ve chased pretty phrases the way Indiana Jones follows statues, slinging sentences like punches in a Kung Fu double feature. I’m a gunfighter, a hired Geek, and I get paid for what I do. It pleases me to know I’ll be doing this forever, provided this new definition of Forever means anywhere between 11:58 p.m., April 6, 1971, and a similar point on a calendar not available for sale for many, many years to come. (Fuck you, Daniel Webster. I’ll see you in Hell!)

The further inland I travel, the longer I stare at the shadows, the deeper they grow, the more obscene their contortions, the more lewd their description. Pretty soon, I’m lost in a land without landmarks. Seems I’m forgetting just what it is I’m walking after, distracted and diverted by outside forces. For whatever happens, I must not turn away from the Prize.

We live our lives walking wicked, talking heavy and working ever forward, accepting the gifts of possibilities and refusing others, like the unrequited love notes of some fumbling grade school crush, before some day arriving at a Western Lands of our own design.

Expand your consciousness to include everything, or annihilate your consciousness and experience nothing, the decision is yours, but the collision point in the middle is the place where the Universe divides by zero, where never becomes infinity, and where nothing lasts forever except nothing and forever. And then you go through that.

So baby, if the gate to that Land is worth anything to you, anything at all, then by all means walk toward it, but do it with certainty. And if your purpose is to serve as a bad example, then serve that purpose well as you are able, and shine as brightly as a bad penny ever has. Make them remember you, dammit, because this is all there is. One life, one shot, one kill. Block out the distractions, bite down a little harder on the Third Rail, and wait for the Juice to lock tight your jaws.

Good night.

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