My cigarette burns down close to the end so I use it to
light another. The beer is gone and the wine is on its last leg. My head is
swimming like Michael Phelps and my lungs resemble the gas chamber I was once
forced to endure. Earlier today I won a 5k road race in Santa Monica… Yay! I
even received a medal to corroborate my achievement. One might construe my
indulgence in tobacco and alcohol as a celebration. And that person obviously
has never met me. Cigarettes and booze are a daily occurrence but winning a
race is not. Instead of rejoicing in my victory I am staring at this computer
screen racing against my inevitable crash (I rose at 5am this morning). I don’t
know where this is going but I felt I should express what I’m not expressing.
Perhaps it’s a metaphor for my life; reach the finish line first and then
wonder what it is I am supposed to do next. Maybe I am running the wrong race?
If so what is the race that will give me the fulfillment I am looking for? I
can always get faster but what is the ultimate purpose if the faster I run the
faster I find the bottom of a bottle? Who is really winning? Me?
Pieces and Creases,
Turbonegro
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