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Hollow-Holler

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August 12, 2005 - 12:17

The first time there was hope, now there is none.
I failed it again,(completely different set of questions) and I just can't believe the things I have to do to live.
I didn't blow my ear-drums out over this failure, which worries me still. Like maybe I have resigned to my incapablility, or that I have not fully accepted the reality of the situation.
Should I beat myself up because I do not know how many legal feet need to be between myself and a fire truck? (8oo, 3oo, 2oo, 6oo) No, I shouldn't. I should not. But I will, question how I remain oblivious to these types of facts, when everybody else is pushing driving factoids out all over the place.
I just don't care enough. Frankly, I JUST DON'T CARE ABOUT it, and I wish that you would stop trying to make me care, Oregon. Just let me have my free rights.
Just let me be free to crash my own car into another car. We'll deal with it, myself and the person who I crashed into. We'll deal with it with our common senses and sympathy.
I may not know which one of my senses is dulled the most as a result of alcohol. "Reaction Time, or Judgement?" You know what I know? Not to drive drunk. Boom.
DMV, it's common sensibilities. That's where you and I get cagey.
I'm taking this pretty hard.
Fine-wale corduroy. Ruffle.
Zac made me five new CD's. I cherish them, like my own engorged tendon in the light of the oil-lamp.
So also, I am trying to become at peace with my gristly body imagery. I am trying not to think when I walk, about how scary and terrible my skeleton must look. Bending it's old boney knees, bobbing it's skull.
Instead, I want to consider my fixations glorious. Can I do it? The other day I wrote "Rib" all over the entire paper. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. Rib. In different scripts.
deadbones

Until it doesn't scare me anymore.