Hanging judges fill the benches of our minds

by maddrunkgenius

——Isn’t it wonderful how much we have compared to other people?
Can I not go where I want?
——What good may I do where I am now? Why go to work?
It’s just inertia & easier to
keep doing than do better.

How long, O Lord, how long?

It doesn’t make it any better. I’m not any better.
——I want to do well at what I do. And go home. And read books. And write something.
I want to produce something to forever vex slightly but delight greatly all who experience it.
——’The best way to get people to read what I’ve written is to do something awful,’ Cho said, not realizing what he’d written was awful & boring, still.

I think I’m more likely now
to survive than in the past.
——I can stay alive, right?
I can stay here tonight?

My knee is bloody & eyes bloodshot.
——I’ve never written a goddamned clever
——enough anything in my life.
Stupid fucking bullshit choices, repeated.
——I pissed all over everything.
——A metaphor. Figurative ain’t literal.
Hanging judges fill the benches
of our minds.
‘I mean, gotta love it.’
——First world problems. Existential whine.
Do please shut the fuck up.
I only like the beginning of things.
I want out. But I can’t stop shitting the bed without giving up my meal, too.
——M forgot my birthday. My song.

When I did well, it never felt
very good. What a waste.

I don’t want to keep texting my ex,
but she’s very much the center of my

conscious gravity. And I’ll never shake her.
——I love [Her]. Because she’s smart
——& literate & can write things. And she’s
——A Goddamned Journalist.
What am I doing at this bar? A double
well-whiskey, two beers, a Wild Turkey 101
plus a generous Scotch.
——I hate the middle of things I liked
——the beginning of.
Don’t forget: nothing is worth the round lavender
seeming-smelling of a bar place meeting.
——People at bars have & demonstrate
——poor judgment. And here I am.
‘She’s a challenging person.’ ‘That’s what you say.’
——‘I can see why people say she’s not nice. … She can
——literally do whatever she wants in life.
‘Where’s Heather tonite?’
——’I guess it’s at that age where people say that sort
——of thing.’

Nothing writes as well on something stained & curled as flat. I can’t stand it.

The assembled crew milled & muttered.