Talk Into My Bullet Hole. Tell Me

There Were Many Moments In The Vine Like That One--where You Might Think Today Was Yesterday, And Yesterday Was Tomorrow, And So On. Because We All Believed We Were Tragic, And We Drank. We Had That Helpless, Destined Feeling. We Would Die With Handcuffs On. We Would Be Put A Stop To, And It Wouldn't Be Our Fault. So We Imagined. And Yet We Were Always Being Found Innocent For Ridiculous Reasons.

And You, You Ridiculous People, You Expect Me To Help You.

I Make The Road. I Draw The Map. Nothing Just Happens To Me...i'm The One Happening.

And Therefore I Looked Down Into The Great Pity Of A Person’s Life On This Earth. I Don’t Mean That We All End Up Dead, That’s Not The Great Pity. I Mean That He Couldn’t Tell Me What He Was Dreaming, And I Couldn’t Tell Him What Was Real.

I Wandered Over Across The Hall Where They Were Showing A Short Movie About Vasectomies. Much Later I Told Her That I'd Actually Gotten A Vasectomy A Long Time Ago, And Somebody Else Must Have Gotten Her Pregnant. I Also Told Her Once That I Had Inoperable Cancer And Would Soon Be Passed Away And Gone, Eternally. But Nothing I Could Think Up, No Matter How Dramatic Or Horrible, Ever Made Her Repent Or Love Me The Way She Had At First, Before She Really Knew Me.