Absent yet in the middle, in on the outside. I write about everywhere I want to be except for gone for this fucking vision of what could be, what will be. This fucking magazine.
In reading friends posts I realize how fortunate I am to still be alive – a friend of theirs died a few days ago of the similar infections that I had in my leg, and while I have scars that decorate, discolor and still irritate almost the entire left limb – I’m still alive.
still alive for now. Need to get shit done, I fight like a motherfucker, but sometimes
sometimes times like this with $.55 that I don’t even bother putting in my pocket and no end of the rainbow and no end of the tunnel where everything makes sense I wonder and I sit here and all I can do to forget everything is work on what I need to do and I just need it to be done and I’m so fucking weary of depending on anyone else because all that does is take me lower, lower.
I work on the site, I create my vision, my dream. Without that I would most certainly realize how lonely I am. In saying those words…
Eleven days until the site needs to be ready, complete. Still so much to do and I don’t know if I can do it – or if I want to anymore. The unfortunate thing is that I adore these people, and that won’t stop – but fuck. This isn’t a fucking whim. this is what is keeping me alive.
it’s all that I have right now. It’s all that I have.