Telegrams from a Skeleton

I wake up either with an hour or two of sleep, or with 4 hours of sleep. Either way, I’m fucked for the day. Breakfast is either a chore with a blender, or a pit stop at a gas station for cuisine of the gods….gods I don’t believe in, but it does the job just fine…..

The day begins in dress clothes, that once looked nice but were falling apart around me. It’s rare not to leave that hell without being food covered. I resent everything by evening, especially myself. Constantly kicking my own ass for still being there.

I go back to my lonely house, lit only by the snake lamps, to find whatever I can to eat or drink (drink) for awhile, slapping the buttons to scroll through Netflix or Prime. Maybe I find time to write, maybe I don’t. I either decide to sleep in my chair or walk the 20 feet to my bedroom. This seems to occur as the most important decision I have to make.

Have any of you seen the show Party Down? I am literally the main character of that show. His name is Henry, played by Adam Scott. Season 1 is my time as a server and two is my current situation as a host.

Friends are mostly gone, or will be. I am not really sure why for a few. Mostly ghosts and memories now. Maybe one day I will understand why. What I really can’t figure out is what haunts me more, the ghosts or my memories?

Love life is empty. I have nothing to say about that….except when a memory floods my thought I throw on the song Back Off Bitch by Guns N Roses. It works. I shouldn’t think about these things this way, but I do. It’s better than when I used to use Dust and Bones (She loved him yesterday, he laid her sister and she said OK, THAT’S ALL RIGHT) 

Nessie was my rock.

Do you guys know what my blog is about? Are you sure? I sure have no fucking clue some days. Please tell me?

I guess it’s just where I bitch. I like to rant, it’s like poetry to me and motivates me to write fiction. I am a strange duck I guess….. but I always knew that.

Time is an equation without a simple answer. Time, there is so much of it and so little of it at the same….time….

I started writing this, sitting on a bar stool, hiding in the corner. Hiding from nothing in particular, just where I like to be. I can watch the world burn from here. You watch the Fuck Boys fail and the wannabe bad girls fail harder. If only they found each other, then they can find true love as failures in a world of wreckage. Beautiful in a disgusting way, like weeds growing through the gaps of garbage.

I know this guy who used to be an English professor who wants me to try my hand at poetry. I have in the past but I’m not sure about it. He gives me really good advice and teaches me things quick, so maybe I’ll tangle with it. What could I lose? Time? Fuck time! 

I currently sit here with a goblet of whiskey (Brain boost) thinking and sipping, getting lost in a mind that seems like a pit of thoughts and useless ideas. Dreams tangled in a spider web or two. 

You know what really pisses me off? It is not so much my job, but certain people. I don’t talk much to a lot of people. Not because I am unfriendly, but its really because I do not see these people as people I should waste my energy on. If I openly talk to you then that is a sign of respect from me. However, certain last place players almost treat me like I am lower than them. Like I am some fucking mute. I am very aware of everything. You may think of yourself as better, but my pay stub says otherwise. Hell, my own history looks like gold compared to that pointless existence. 

I need out, before my worst thoughts come running out. 

I feel like a lot of people do not really listen to me when I talk. Which does actually hurt my feelings a bit. This always seems good though. For the 6 people who read this thank you, much love.  

The title of this is from a story I never finished but changed into something more….It fit this post.

Some written fiction will be out next…..Until then, I am gone…..gone….gone….






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