86. don't worry
return to the place where you're given water. because that's the elixir of life, and you'll thank 'em later when they're gone. they're gone before you know it. you don't know it. i don't know it. no one knows it.
it? yeah, complicated stuff. we return to the same things, the same questions and the same answers in life, though. like how to make an exit, and how to make an entrance. it's like that one shakespeare line, isn't it? all the world is a stage, men and women make their entrances and exits. foo foo foo. there's so much to this life i'm not thinking of recording in this one post. a 26 year old name sunjay. a touch screen juke box. judy and the blood orange wheat-y draft. sara bareilles. lentil soup. bathroom trips, as needed. walks through the fog and the n line owl. the reversible leather jacket from vintage satisfaction, sold by a lovely lady with crooked teeth born from a man who took photos for the beats. or the beets. whichever you prefer. the writers back in the day.
that's who i say i am. a writer. a writer, for the paper and the screen. ugh. it's cringey because it's as fake as it is true. and i don't know which it is. but i'm also a scientist at heart, a chef, because it's one grand experiment in the dark. hand me a candle and let's make a prayer, lighting this darkness with a measly speech conjured from the dirty, smelly cheeks of my buttocks. you ready? fuck, i'm not. well, here it goes.