OKay . . . tell me if you've ever been here.

So you work all night towing cars, sort of breaking your back, but it's at least better than working out despite the fact that your arms feel like they'll explode, and you spend all night in the cab of your truck thinking about certain questions that tend to engulf your life, then a buddy driver of yours says lets go get a few when your shift is over, so you do, and a few later, you're in the bar saying, oh no, she's cute enough, but do I really want to exert the effort, no, so you leave on your bike listening to Rage to keep you awake, you get home, go on estrip and read a bunch but then ultimately write this maniacal diatribe about people's potential compared to what they actually do, hell it might even make sense, but then you wake up early the next moring and do the equivalent of a literary one night stand - you look at what you wrote, and say, now where the hell did you come from, have I seen you before, and do you want breakfast or will I just see you later?

does that ever happen to you?

Tis strange. Tis.

I'd love to blame it on alcohol, but it had left by the time I started to type.

Alas.

If the potential energy of a said object tends to be more than what the kinetic energy is, of course you must assume this, given this given, then, in general, most things have more power in their potential than they do in their movement. In other words the potential for something tends to be so much greater than what that something does. Hence the reason why inaction is so exciting. BUt it's all relative people isn't it. Your potential is only as good as your height (in physics) but your potential is only as good as you realization of it, or of where you are. Where does that leave us? Perhaps with the desire to match the potential with the kinetic.

It's like I'm sanding the marble sculpture of a dancer that I started years and years ago. I'm on the verge. But so are you.

Your potential is arousing and if you only knew that, you'd be teetering between the s and m - the sane and the mad, but looking fantasic in the process.

Stay stagnant for fear of jeopardizing what you have.

But what the fuck do you have?

ah.

I must embrace confusion. By that I mean, that's what happens, not what I intend to do. I can live with it, and there are parts of me that like it. And when it's not there, I nix it right away. And I apologize to those who I've done this to. It's not my fault. It's just what happens.

This weekend, on a side note, I wonder if this helps. I mean, who am I talking to? You? Me? Both I'd say. By the ticket, take the ride.

I used to not worry, but now I do. There is no point, but then, like I was saying before, this weekend solidified that idea. The point is what I make it and that's it. So if I get muddled up in shit, it has to be because I enjoy it. There has to be a bunch of you who know exactly what I'm talking about. Then, maybe not.

But I'm done. I have to focus on what I need to do rather than concentrate on variables I have no say in. It's like what Dostoyevsky said about the architect who builds his house. Those who are angry are those who have finished. Perhaps therein lies the reason for my obsession with the uncertain.

I'm going to go to bed before it gets bad.

I should let it get bad again, but I'm still paying the hospital bills for it.

I think I better think it out again.

we're sticking (pun intended) with this one for a bit.

Funny thing is I look just like that guy to the right.

And yet I can't leave without posing an idea . . .

I'm walking along a trestle, on a train track surrounded by the absurd. I need to accept that. That is the key to eliminating guilt and self doubt.

I'm just not sure I'd like to rid my existence of those two all together.