Hatorade

Ahh what to do what to do? All this misanthropic hateration is really chiving my hide, if that’s even a word. Going back and forth between like and dislike as an indecisive youtuber. Caught in the hustle and flowing floating along emotional dramas I have lost use for many a moon ago. Those two sides, they come in many forms, they play tricks on the midsummer spirit and wink ever so coyly at monster mash in me. Oscillating between moody blues hues, it Getz me nowhere in a white rabbit hurry.

It is a tiresome lot this fickle fuck of a twoface. The mask of comedy and tragedy painted on my furrowed face in Hexadecimal fashion. Maybe a reboot is in order. Unplug, disconnect and attune myself to peaceful dispositions. A Buddhist template to reawaken the love bug in me, in the proverbial soul of a hollow fellow blues man. Sights unseen, travel the world young man, see a life not yet taken, voyages remarkable, destiny at the helm.

Maybe the hermit small world creates animosity and resentment. Maybe I’m fooling myself into anger and delusion. Guiding my existence towards solitude out of fear of pain, relationships, broken heart social scene. I confuse the real me when really what I want is red rover red rover, come on over hugs and kisses. Isolationist grump holding out halting hand at all the bystanders. Tempted to use the force to block arrivals. Bridge troll delighting himself with cryptic behaviour and riddles galore. Making that life-affirming connection thing a task for those seeking kinship and camaraderie.

Being some phantom of the opera with twisted face and mind, stagnating in dank dungeons never to grow, evolve, into the man I used to know. That bright imagining I had once, the projection of the idolized self-image. The hero that does not falter. Unwavering knight brushing up against challenge without this nagging, questioning self. The Woody Allen neurotic filling in for the passed out protagonist. Scoping possibilities but holding himself back, refraining to move forward and adding pressure upon himself. Using that weight to make excuses to not grab life, not risk in the usual sense. The old nights of debauchery and drunken sloppiness and avarice a faint memory. Just wild nights of stupidity. Ahh what to do what to do?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s