Document5

I miss driving thats the one thing i dislike about the  city. i miss driving on the open highway i miss turning a corner and seeing the clouds roll down the hills like a stream of water as the sun rises behind it like a painting and thinking maybe god is real i miss stomping on the pedal and watching the spedometer climb and climb and climb to 60 70 75 80 85   100 110, i miss putting on have a nice life and turning up the volume as dan barrett signs

I WISH I WAS ALIIIIIIIVE
I WISH I WAS ALIIIIIIIVE

as im going 110 sliding down a hill on the 280 not caring if theres a cop waiting for me not caring if i lose control not caring if i get in a wreck not caring if the wreck kills me hey at least i wont have to go into work that'd be nice

but i never do get in a wreck there's never a cop waiting at the bottom of the hill. sometimes dreams just stay in your head and you park in the parking lot and you go into work and you live your boring life.

i always liked sitting in my car sometimes id just sit there and think and stare out into nothing in particular and scream really really loudly and cry and rant and yell and you wouldnt be worried about hey maybe someone might hear me because nobody can its a secluded space my mom always tells me that i needed my space growing up but i dont remember that i dont remember asking for that. maybe i did. i dunno my memorys always been terrible     crumps will write about things i did and i dont remember them people tell me stories about things i did and i believe them because they sound like something like i would do. i care less and less about whats real the older i get. all everyone does is tell stories and framing and manipulation and propaganda and gaslighting and perspective you'll never find out what really happened.

there's only your truth and you have to believe in that you have to believe in, i mean you DONT im not telling you to im not your dad you can do what you want but i think you have to believe in your own truth otherwise what else is there to hold on to? how else can you make sense of things make sense of   the world you occupy make sense of all the dumb shit that happens happened will happen. something happens to you then you process it and frame it and knit it into the internal narrative of your own life the internal nar  rative the internal story the internal framing the internal propaganda that you tell yourself that keeeep s you up at night

that keeps you up at night

that you wake up to   that you replay while standing on a full subway car   while sitting in on a zoom call    while making a sandwich or grilling chicken or turning off the beeping smoking alarm or watching a movie or walking thorugh the rain without an umbrella

i hope one day the movie theater in my mind shuts down one day it will stop one day it will end thats my dream that the memories thoughts voices boinging htrough my head halt and there's just. nothing. oh wait thats my own space maybe thats what my mom was talking about.

well ANYWAY

im gonna get more money and im gonna buy a car and im gonna drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive to. somewhere. i dont know where but itd be nice to wake up somewhere other than here.