When I was young, and people went on vacations, I traveled up north, and went up to see my cousins, because they told me friends weren’t important, so I guess I never bothered to make close ones. So it was funny when we eventually kind of fell apart, that drifting away from family seemed so painless, and all the drama caused seemed pointless, but at least now I have best friends. My neurologist said that I’m finally happy, and on the road to recovery. She asked me what the big change was, I told her I was finally getting sleep. I haven’t had a migraine in a long time (excluding heat or hunger), and this is probably the happiest I’ve ever been since last September. I guess it really is all about perspective.

Who the hell are you, and what have you done to Jack? 2008 called, it wants its hope and change back, with no receipt, you are not worth the refund; you’re a shadow of what you once were, you’re just a painful reminder of the division that you caused with everyone. A year ago, you wrote of reboots and ransom notes, about never eating cake because they said you couldn’t have it too. You spoke of dreams never coming true, both the ones you were having, but also the ones you were forbidden to. It was an overreaction, your doc never happened, it never came to fruition because of a sidetracked mind focused like a looper assassin; like a lost generation; like the things that should’ve remained deleted, and never had any quantum, so be quiet, your people make it sound like “chud up,” which is kind of like the double negative motto of Barney Stinson. You’re a failed Coen Brothers’ film, ladykilled by intolerable cruelty, and your idea of c’est la vie is driving a CR-V. Scrapyard the Altima, save the date, come back to us, this site runs on your spite, you love to hate anniversaries.

I admit I used to be lovesick, but now I’m just a Sikh boy. I watched silently as war broke, as dreamers were slayed by loving glances, not meant towards them, a drama queen’s advances; it was simple, yet complex, but a failure nonetheless. I was always lacking sympathy for the timeless, and only finding fear of a timeline disrupted because of a failed mindset. Looking for a revelation, I took solace at the red door, prayed for intervention, and now I’m asking for a clean slate from everything that I’ve written. I’ve finally reached the pearly gates, survived the autopsy, now I’m rising like a phoenix, with this collaborative combating sickness. I was drowning in subtle water, now I’m searching for meta balance, hoping that these inside jokes turn me into an insider, who lives his dreams from the page to the screen, and doesn’t know what’s real or a filmed memory.

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  1. Pingback: Anniversary [Part III] | Paradox Lost

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