I’m not sure where I’m going, man. So, you know, just bear with me.
I go up and down the stairs from the Flatbush Junction subway station in Brooklyn to get to my job. These happen to be the stairs I fell down last winter when I knocked my front teeth out and got a concussion while I was six degrees of fucked up and living on the street. I thought about that when I was on my way back from work today.
I had another thought while I was sweating in the hot station, waiting for the five train to carry me back to Manhattan.
My moods swing wildly; they cycle sometimes to polar opposites within the course of one day, in hours. My moods affect how I look at the world; they affect my behavior and the way I react to those around me. I do things in the morning that don’t make sense to me at the end of the day. It made me wonder which version of me is the real me? Surely not the one who doesn’t want to do anything and hates everyone. Surely not the one who wants to do everything and fuck everyone. Is there a middle? Are they all me? It’s rather inconvenient to have no idea who i am at age 37, I’ll say that right now.
I don’t know, man, I just had some thoughts, and that’s what writing is… thinking into a keyboard.
