Progeny of Progression


I can hear my beautiful neighbor showing her apartment off. Probably a sublet situation. Everytime she passes I hear her say, they have a dog that is super quiet.

Today’s goal is the appeasing of my personal flow rather than the resisting of it. It’s important for me to get my mood up. I can get up if I want or I can stay seated. I can move or I can stay. I can get in the shower or play Destiny. I am a free boy.

My phone plops. It’s the library telling me that they have the original Blade Runner available for download.

Send it my way, I say.

I really want the Subterraneans. Because I’m feeling like old Kerouac in a bunch of new Warhols. But who knows? Maybe I’m at my best. Maybe I’m just getting started. The downfall of ello has really gotten to me, even if it’s just the downfall of me. This multiplicity of social networks or the multiplicity of the self is painful. I’m sure on both our ends. Don’t let me speak for you though.

I’m doing the laundry as a means of aneurysm prevention. One after another, the articles of clothing are picked off the dog kennel.

There is a bowl with disgusting old milk in it next to my desk. It used to have a lot more raisin bran in it than it does now. And it didn’t used to smell as bad as it does now.

I take the bowl to the kitchen along with a bowl which used to have more Cocoa Pebbles in it than it does now.

I can’t get the same feeling on Twitter as I do here. There’s so much talent there. Everyone in the world seems to have it. It’s hard to feel like you’re anything when you call yourself a writer when everyone is one. That being said, is the novel dead? What about the blog? Is ello dead?

I thought for sure I was made for this world but I don’t feel like I belong anywhere anymore.

I’m trying not to be a burden on my friends. Is the story over? Have I’ve overstayed my welcome?

Come back when you’ve got something new for us, I hear them say. I don’t know what they’re looking for and I don’t know if I’m the person to give it to them. How can they trust me? I tell them to follow their gut but look at all the good it’s done me.

I still have little visions though. Pointing someone’s browser at my url and watching their eyes light up as they roll over my sentences. That’s what I’ll do when I’m a ghost. I’ll float around waiting for someone to stumble onto my remains and gather up my soul.

That’s where I’ll be. Somewhere in your shadow emboldening you.

I couldn’t figure it out, how I had been surviving? How am I still not completely engulfed. You know, it was a real block in my narrative. But it’s all starting to make sense. There’s only one way. I must have more poison in my system than I had originally thought. A double dose. That stab in the back must have had more oomph than I’d realized. Really threw me into a funk. Only one way to neutralize all that @gunk. Pour salt it in the wound. Give it all you’ve got. Just keep going.

(give them what they want) + (give them what they want) = (success!)

Can I save the homefront in the homestretch? I told you all I would. Do I even want to? Have you asked yourself is that even what I want?

What kills you makes you stronger, right?