even super man died

every now and then, we must pull out our hard hats & learn to play the architect.
we must take long looks at what we’ve built – then gather the courage it takes to destroy it.
then rebuild.

it’s all about rebuilding.

—–

and i’m learning that the me i am now is the best me i can be.
and that’s fine & acceptable.
the me i am tomorrow may be different – but i will be doing my best impression of self.
feel me?

—–

so i’ve spent the last few days in a mock sports bar learning the ins & outs of the bartending industry.
and i’m loving it.
all these years of college & i’m learning that bartending is my life’s calling?
wtf is that?
but oh well.
it wasn’t a complete waste. if you can believe it, my college career was much like that of Ron and Dwayne’s on A Different World. i loved every second of it.
and not because of the foolishness alone – but also because it was fxcking awesome.
the marching wildcats, the horrible cafe food, the panty raids, the FOOLISHNESS!!!!

but bartending. wow.
and i’m like the valedictorian in there, which really boosts the ego.

so we finish friday & i’m looking forward to being employed in a bar, maybe topless, counting money.
O_o
—–

so i’m writing this poem & titling it:

I AIN’T GOT IT

rose are red
violets are blue
i owe sally mae, via and dicover’s ass too
i ain’t got it

—–

you ever want to just be forgotten for a few days?
hoping your phone’s not taking any incoming calls and your house is too far to drive to on a humbug?
relive a langston hughes poem or a cobain attempt – but temporarily…
damn…

the good news is that life is still great!
——

side note: those that don’t read are no better of than those who cannot.
—–

i should be sleep right now – doing the REM thing.
but i’m not. i’m up playing the failed architect, attempting to fit my life into some grand design.
destroy. build. and keep building.

taylor swift won, lady gaga turned me into a fan and beyonce managed to match my grandmother’s drapes.
jay stopped boycotting, and kanye was probably sitting home holding a picture of his mom in one hand, a bottle of scotch in the other, his head in wissaname’s lap and kicking the tv every time taylor went on stage. sounds appropriate.

but i’m just blogging to blog at the point.
i need to get back to this editing and chilling and grapefruit juice before my eyes shut.
oh shxt – i forgot to tell y’all i’ve been sleeping recently.
but hey – even superman died.

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