"It's not about hard or easy and always about the job at hand"
- - - Wylie Times, 100 Bullets
The mind is phluxing, trying to get a grip, trying to make it seem like something worthwhile. Do you see her eyes as clearly as I see them? I have let her down twice but only once as far as she is concerned and we're back at the bar, drinking, going classy, ordering the small beers and double ricards with one icecube and sometimes, when there's enough drugs and usually speed we tell the truth. Then, the pitch changes and we see this chef beat down the dj as he puts on some kyuss and then suddenly in its banality and simplicity, something becomes worthwhile.
The consequences for the dj are non-existant for this life is too short to be hindered by people that don't know what they do, life is way too short to not take some of rand with you. Earlier in my life I hated well meaning, well meaning sacrifices, people that either said they meant well or people who meant it with tears in their eyes but it still didn't matter and now I know why, now I've understood it and my eyes grow blacker for every night. Time becomes irrelevant when you meet the people that are older than your parents but will still drink you under the table three times and do more drugs in a night than you did in a day, when you see the gold diggers digging for the heart of saturday night when you see your friends at the pub and you get a sensation of a familiar feeling, you've heard it a hundred times but here's what I see as the kicker because I really think that deja vus are memories from the future.
Time is only the now but it isn't really the now the hippies talked about, time is a completely different beast, curved along the edges of fourth-dimensional space. We walk and talk in the rain but there's nothing perfect about it, like time shows us again and again so that we may learn and create seven new stories but we are still children, talking about things we do not know or have any information on but it made us feel big back then, telling a lie about fucking this older chick when we were really camping with our parents in the mountains, something of shame. We are still talking about the same things, we are still walking through the old streets but they have changed more than us but we feel we've changed, we feel we're onto something here, we're on our way, there is light or atleast something interesting in the end of the tunnel but then we take a look at something else than the mirror and we go back into our depression and deal with it in the best way.
We're golden like cinderella still, our walk-in closet filled with one of each shoe because we have littered our planet with one of each shoe, planting seeds. The world will end when every living person realize that sex sells.
I didn't feel like I could relate to this one as well as the others
I think the last paragraph misses its mark a little bit