The Light That Burns Twice As Bright Lasts Half As Quick...



Or something like that.

Working two jobs. Both a far cry from the other. After I am done training with one job, I'll do the other full time. Both require me to dress up. Both require me to be nice. Both require me to be professional. Both are not writing. Both are not comic books. One will pay the bills and give me more money.

What happened to me dying my hair blue? I miss the days of walking in with black eyes, cuts on my arms, and fingernail polish on my fingertips. I miss the hangovers and the unrememberances of the nights and girls before. Wait - maybe not that. Wait - maybe I do. Not. Do. Not.

I miss The Fonz and how he used to bang his fist against shit to make it work. That was so tough. I also miss Al's Place and watching The Fonz jump his cycle over sharks. I miss french fries.

I think I'm going to quit everything and leave this place. I feel like I stopped wandering around in a dark forest right when a rusty, old bear trap clamped around my right ankle. And as more time has passed, all I can do is to move in slow, painful circles while watching myself bleed to death...

I am waiting for my radioactive spider. I want to be taught the lessons of POWER and RESPONSIBILITY. But then, Peter Parker always has a shitload of problems too, so...crap on that whole deal.

I want to move and sell all of my stuff.
I want to be the guy with the accent.
I want to buy more useless shit. Just new.
I want a lot.
I want a pony.
So that I can kick it in the head.
And then run away and blame it on somebody else.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe I should go.

Maybe I should stop.