/ this writing - though filled with open analogies - has mostly been inspired by those lines that go like, "no - no, no-no. no-no, no-no." /

***

Well, I know you couldn't love me (not that it was a surprise. Not that it could ever come as a surprise).

'cause you're promised to... are you promised? is that someone else now, that makes your promises?

***

I take a look, and I wish I could look away, I wish I could just wish away my feelings - to quote the Most Sithy Lord of All Time -, but sometimes, wishing is childish. Wishing is hiding behind your dirty palms, and screaming "you can't see me". Wishing is believing that somehow, they really can't, and they can"t hear your screaming either, that your voice is just the eerie echo of their own feelings of regret over something they have never done to you. (You wish they had. At least you would have a legit target for all your youthful passion and hate). Wishing is all that, and more, and worse. To act as an adult, one would have to assume, and assumptions are hard and rough and they smell of unpleasant things like statistics, cheap cans and reality.

***

Nowadays, I feel the need to go and see Dr Xanax far more frequently than I used to. More times than I should. Sometimes, I choose my orgies with the Nervous Twitchin' instead. That one's a real bitch, all dressed up and cute, makes your head spin, and for just one more time, you fall into the trap and actually believe that you're in for a good time. But Ms Nervous Twitchin' lets you down, the kinky stuff is nowhere, and everything you get is just another dark circle beneath your eyes.

Those times, you turn to God, provided that He exists. My grandfather always said that as long as we exist, God exists. Then we fucking die, and he fucking dies with us. He said it like this, made the fig gesture with his right hand (you know, the one you make when something is so worthless you don't even give the middle finger), and laughed. I always felt real sorry for God, because I believed in him, I believed he could do things.

I think that maybe God is a cat-like spirit. He sees you and understands you, sometimes he's even loyal and understanding, and he comforts you. And he's really intelligent. But sometimes, you're just that glass on the table which is not sympathetic for Him at all, so he screws you... but being screwed is quite relative, just as all other things are relative. Does the broken glass feel screwed? It's suddenly much bigger, much wider than before. It sees dimensions previously unknown to it. The broken glass, somehow, becomes eternity until you take the shovel and balance its pieces to the trash can. Maybe God has the same logic when he plays the cat game.

* * *

The good thing about my life is, I never feel like a beggar. I didn't even feel like it when I was almost actually one. I'm more like a hanger-on really - certain things are expected of me, and I never fail to disappoint. I don't really feel invited to this whole life-business, either... I just came around, went around, and stayed out of necessity. Out of pressure. Out of obligation. But half of me is still floating in the material-less space I've come from, and doesn't really feel like coming back.

***

Really... listen to me, you little flame. You are an Idea. You're something pure and valuable. You have nothing to do with me. You don't need to be exposed to a hanger-on. You don't want ME to be the one who bends you to their purposes. My purposes are dirty and self-sufficient. You wouldn't be happy around me. My soul smells.

(Of course, you're stupid. Just like my ass. My ass is real stupid).

(And you decide to stay, and save me).

* * *

I was wrong, I don't need you
It seems reckless and unfair
Better days are far behind me
Guess that's another cross I'll have to bear

I know that there's a time and a reason
To take that ghost and lock it up inside
And maybe I am down, but I'm not beaten
Like anything, we were born to die