hope i have more to say than i think. the emptiness of this text box is demanding i fill it, and whether or not i can comply, i am compelled, impelled, and the next word that occurs is impaled, sometimes i really miss my own point (or nail it, and not know it until well after the fact but not this time. really.) (wait: nail, impale, … no. nice try though.) the words they fuck with me. occasionally the other way ’round but not this time. no.
the process is frustration in a form pure as the scream screamed screaming down the freeway at something approaching terminal velocity, however these things are memories mostly, i’m slower by far here now at my age although i never touched the brakes, not once.
do i miss fast? is this a loss? am i beyond being that raw? risking it all and more and it was just me, my one bare toe on the pedal feathering the throttle until it was wide fucking open and so was i, flying mindless of consequences, honest i was open to them, i deserved them, whether i was fully aware of it at the time or oblivious. (both. i was both.) this was me seriously bent upon my own destruction, i just failed at it, is all. to this day i never quarrel over getting what’s coming to me, i know oh so much better.
i miss the purity of that willingness, that utterly fucked up careless place i survived beyond only by some random accident of fortune. and i miss raw. i miss that reckless existence, fast as the gear ratio would allow at the top end, i miss nothing mattering in the end, this i miss most of all.
no, i don’t. yes, no, wait, maybe, yes. yes. no. yes.
fuck if i know.