NAB

sometimes you drift into my mind, and i wonder about the baby, and i wonder if yr still binging, and i wonder if your still writing, and i still have your poem to me, where you told me i'd get to the desert & dance in my poncho while on peyote, but maybe i wish that was how it went, but man, why'd you have to write it in my favourite book? why'd you have to be so invested in all my scribbles, when others are not? i suppose you've been schooled in the same language as me: scribbles inside books are the key to my everything.
but anyway, remember the ten mile walk? my very first day back. or second perhaps. i haven't done a ten mile walk in quite some time, since i've seen you in fact, and prior to that feels like a different lifetime ago. i don't remember much, besides fighting about the holographic universe, your god vs mine, you creating a new genre of writing for your movies, and anyway, i wonder if yr still a D list actor - are you famous yet? are you still quirky? are you still writing? producing movies or whatever you hollywood jet setting types do? you wanted to see my writing but of course I wouldn't show you and the minute I realized you were who you were, I knew you were famous I completely shut off, as did you, as being anonymous was of the essence in a place like that. you told me before you had a dream of me and you in love in another lifetime and fuck you man, why couldn't we just be friends then? I wonder if i'll ever cross your path, maybe i'll write to yr fan club in hopes of speaking to you. i could be that creep who just wants to see how your doing. maybe i'll stalk you out online until my fingers go blue. maybe i'll compartmentalize you like i've already done, and been doing, putting you into that place in my brain where i go to when i'm completely bored and out of all other options of stories to keep my mind at ease. who knows, right? regardless: i hope you are doing well. maybe we'll meet and dance with the wolves one day - that was the poem, wasn't it! - and i'm listening to counting crows, i doubt you even like them with yr horrible fucking music taste of something that is dub step meets souxsies and the banshees (maybe wishful thinking, but doubtful) but i think if i ever go to California in your area, i'm sure i'll be wondering about you. of course i'd never look you up, i didn't like your eyes anyway. your soon to be wife & my baby love visiting and those looks you gave made me uneasy, i just didn't like them, they reminded me of another one who should have never been here or there or anywhere, except i really think i loved that one, for a writing moment anyway.

and its weird because the ones we end up with are just as creative & sometimes even better but the best parts slide through the cracks. i wonder why, i wonder why we paint but do not write, i wonder what happened to the haikus, i wonder what happened with sitting, creating, doing what we love, but instead, rotting our brains and our arms with the drugging of tv & then some too, but hey, what is wrong with us? why does it always come to that? i know i'm not better alone & i dont want to be alone but why cant we have our cake and eat it too with just one individual? this is what i've been left thinking about.