The silly part of this all is that I was beginning to feel like I'd woken up from a very long and very fitful sleep. I was feeling rested, almost alive. Almost real. The silly part of all this is that I thought I was through the worst of it. For no apparent reason, with no real logic behind any of it. I thought I was through it. But now I don't know. I'm wondering if this is the last meal before the hangman's noose, that last smoke before facing the firing squad. I'm wondering.
Three weeks ago next Tuesday I'll drown in a drainage ditch while passed out drunk and strung out on methamphetamines.
What if I'm already dead? What if this what the afterlife is like? A series of increasingly nonsensical challenges that you can never quite live up to? What if it really is a game? And I'm not playing for the right side?
On Christmas Eve in 2013 I'll be shot three times in a stick-up attempt at a Citgo station somewhere south of Des Moines, Iowa. I'll die painfully and alone in strange place.
Things aren't looking all that smashing for the next little bit. I've got some things that need to be overcome, some other things that need to be sorted. But then again isn't that always the way? I guess I'd be kind of disappointed if things were suddenly just perfect. I'm sort of enjoying things suddenly just being good.
On my 17th birthday I'll be stabbed in the back by someone I thought was my friend and as I bleed to death on the floor of our high school gymnasium I'll wonder how I could have been so foolish.
I don't know what it was about the last two days that's got me thinking about the days before I bottomed out late last year. Don't know why I'm searching for answers to questions I thought I had figured out. Maybe deep down I feel a bad spell coming, even though I'm still feeling really good. Maybe it's just that fear that comes with knowing that things have gone bad before. Maybe it's just that doubt creeping in the corners telling me that this isn't it, that it's just a momentary respite.
On a cool afternoon in October not so many years from now I'll experience a sharp pain in my chest, and I'll be gone before paramedics even reach me.
There's going to be a stretch in the next few weeks where I'm totally on my own. Flying without a net so to speak. To pull some shit off I'm going to need to get my head clear of even the good shit. I don't know if I'm going to be able to do it. I hope so. But I know that if I don't I'll just man up and try again later. Hell it's not like I'm going anywhere right?
While crossing an unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar city I'll be struck and killed by a truck whose driver was nodding off behind the wheel. Lost in my thoughts I'll have never even noticed the truck coming.
I'd say this was sort of cathartic, say that the past few hours did or made something different. But they didn't. No. They didn't. Instead the message I found pounding inside my skull as I trudged home in the early hours of this morning just gets louder and louder. Like the volume will somehow help me understand it.
This is fire.
We are Vanguard.
Sure. Sure you are.
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