I don't know what to tell you really. I know that in times of change and hope, there are still small life size crises. I brush my hand in your hair and don't care about too much.
I want to be very honest with you. Right now. I messed up, I stay in the terminal, I tried a long kick. I feel like there is wind here, and that the wind has made the ball look like it is not going through the uprights. I have been breathing through my nose, and smoking a stupid cigarette with my mouth. I have been waving my arms violently in the middle of the playing field. There are other players on the field. But now that the ball is in the air it is up to me to see it through. I will not leave the field now. I run along the sidelines, one hundred yards up and back. I promise you the ball has not landed. I am here, I have been here and quiet.
I get up from the couch to stoke the fire and return to the couch. I trip into the fire and get burns. I have become a freak of the internet. I have become a slowpoke unaware of how many days are passing.
You know, I want to tell you, while I have you alone, that I am really sorry. I feel regret and guilt. I feel like I cheated on you, internet writers. I have left and arched you. And I assume you have returned the favor. But, I am going to try again.
Things will be different, I am alone now.
Time for the preacher. I have denied the preacher in me, because of how people made me feel about it. But I like preaching to the religion of poetry and writing all kinds of things everyday. It is about catharsis. So fuck you, I will preach it as loud as I can. Sometimes, it builds up and I need to. Time to tell you that I almost lost faith in this. I questioned writing for the first time in my life, since starting out. There are lots of rooms in my past, lots of walls covered with pages and books and moving books. There are alot of times when I would be shitting and reading something and just drop the book after reading five lines, and I dropped the book in awe. I thought, goodgoddamnn if I ever get to write something like that. It made me want to, I worked to do it. But for the first time, recently, I couldn't even look myself in the mirror. I would write pages and discard them into the folders, but not very often. I sat on a chair alone and said to my cats, 'what's the point?' 'fuck it.' It has taken me this long to convince myself that what I believe in is writing all the time. Writing all the time has been my religion for seven years. I started out alone in rooms I had made into offices. Sometimes it was a bathroom, late at night, in the basement of the building. I think I literally pray that I will find a way to find you with poems. I want my poems to love you and make you scared, and alot of other things, duh. I want to have fun in the poems and create something that is entertaining. I like long poems because I like to have room to walk around in and discard. I think writing short poems is like writing short stories. Long poems are like novels. I believe there is a way to present poetry into a marketplace that is much different than it is today. But, I think it would take alot of money for advertising and adapting to mobile platforms and making poems viral, so add revenue can be added in a way that costs nothing. People have to look to hard for it these days. Eaten by more colorful media. I'm off of the point now. So, anyways, blahblahblah. And the eyeball dances under the dragon flying in circles breathing fire toward the human kite that is struck with lightning, connecting the human kite with electric charge that is powerful and come from clouds filled with biscuit angels and the lost pets of faded celebrities.
Coome back. Coome back internet readers. I am here and I love you for living life in a way that involves writing things down. It is simple, but it is true, and I mean it and I will prove it to you if you give me a second chance. You don't have to answer now. I will earn you back.
This is the final post of this blog, in memorium.
