My brain is soggy from all of the booze lately and it's sad because it used to inspire me.
I mean, at least for a couple of weeks there.
I felt it light a fire in me and it made me want to move and talk and shake and walk and smoke and get my knife and take it with me everywhere I go, through homeless camps and the sunset strip...I wanted it all.
But now I feel like I just can't think. I can't get collected, I can't get my head on straight...it's a mushy foggy marsh and I am the one who flooded the land with this poisonous viscous insanity.
It makes my insides rot and stink and behind my eyes becomes dirty and bitter.
I have come to the end of it for a while. I have come to take a break. I have come to rest and relax and find something akin to solace for a while. I need to think and be fierce. I need to be sharp again, like a weapon.
I have been hiding behind my glasses, as a mild mannered man.
I have been hiding behind my beard...hiding my true face...walking amongst the sheep dressed as one of you, acting as one of you, looking and smelling and speaking like one of you.
baaaaah
I want another wolf to roam with.
That's always what it comes down to, is that I am a pack animal who is almost always missing a pack because we are so spread out and far away and close, but far apart...as if time and distance are reality.
I am sick of reality.
I want to light fires in the field and send smoke signals across the great planes and climb mountains and scream and sink to the bottom of the ocean and flourish and feed of off the dead and blind things, and I want to walk on land and breathe air and emit smoke and eat raw flesh and sink my hands into the earth and dig it up with a primal scream "I AM THE DEVIL AND I HAVE COME TO DO THE DEVILS WORK" but I know that I am god and that it is the same sides, all three, of the same coin, like when it spins in the air and becomes an orb.
You are god too.
This is a call to the wolves of the world.