El Matador

Layout by CoolChaserI wake early to see the sunrise but feel let down. I recall events that never happened. I punch myself when I just will not listen to reason...the damn tyranny of logic is a real motherfucker. I never run on treadmills because I feel I’m going nowhere. I’m on a mission to retrieve every coin I ever tossed in a wishing well. I send messages in bottles out to sea with the message reading “everything you know is bullshit, call for details” and I leave my number but I’ve yet to get a reply. I read text from antiquity and modernity alike, then I reread because surely I must have missed something. I shower in the nude. I do many things in the nude. I strip down and run naked through sage fields, screaming “goddamn man, the beauty’s got a hold on me”. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night quoting Giordano Bruno, “libertes philosophica”. I swing Thor’s hammer around with a grin and the promise of some playful malice. In the end it’s benevolent and rewarding. I find Nietzsche’s aphorisms to be much more comprehendible than his stories. My psychic apparatus is preoccupied with trying to coordinate the menage a trois between my Id, Ego, and Superego. It’s really confusing to determine who’s setting the rhythm in the room. My wanderlust is often bitch slapped by reality and contrasted with a trendy pair of concrete boots of impediment. And these fuckers are heavy. I drank a magic potion once with no dramatic effect. I think the expiration date had passed. I’ve been told not to be too morose because Jesus loves me. But doesn’t he love everybody? So fuck, just like that, in an instant my magical moment of uniqueness is gone. With only one platitude and a single subsequent thought, I’m back, full circle. Bitter. Despondent. More troubled than before. I guess it’s an argument for Nietzsche’s eternal reccurance theory. And lastly, one thing I’ve discovered to be more certain than the cliched “death and Taxes” is that dressing as a pirate will not guarantee you booty. RRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrr