A Bitter Albeit Liberating Eulogy

August is the most turbulent, fucked-up, depressing, and CONFUSING month of 2007 for me. The reasons, as cold and indifferent as they can be, are pretty much intense but they still managed to coalesce into something I've come to appreciate, even if they proved way too much for me to handle properly. Easier said than done, I know.

I have long surrendered to the fact that I am a retarded jackass. I don't struggle to shrug off the fact but I neither embrace it. I let it be. I let it go on its own course. I let it go like a rabid motherfucker. I feed off its adrenaline and it feeds off me. Then I find myself fucked up, fucked over, and just not giving two hot fucks about what's going to happen next.

I automatically run on auto-pilot then the impending violent crash takes a detour. Then a delay.

Reality gets back on its track and bitch-slaps me rudely to the 4th plane. I shake the Last of The Migraines. Then I take a look at the eyes of The Whatcouldvebeen and I am baffled and excited and stirred and anxious and impatient. I become slovenly perplexed. An intense inner tremor of some kind. Like a nasty habit you can't stop doing. It feels helpless. It's numbing. It induces grief in high fucking dosages. I become stupor in human form.

The Whatcouldvebeen. Ah, yes. I will be completely honest and say it....it is absofuckinglutely ethereal. It's nothing I have ever seen before. Or imagined. The timing in which I have fully grasped and understood its nature crushed me but it somehow became my glue, the thing that kept my shit together, the thing that made me go, "Shit, this is NICE." The funny thing is, I have no idea if the storm is over or if I'm staring at its eye.

Then its 31 chances are over. A new cycle begins. A new deck has been dealt. I find myself scarred intensely, head split open by lame-ass assumptions, sweet talk rebutted with stone-cold disbelief, whispers crushed by screams loud enough to scare large wild animals, and most importantly, my heart has been ripped out several times by tumultuous surprises. How it fucking found its way back to my chest is still a mystery to me.

I have seen the nice and delightfully colored dining hall but I found myself in the boiler room. Things happen for a reason? Bullshit. Your feet brought you to where you're at.

For some reason that's completely beyond me, I am still here and August is not. August had finally met its Maker. Funeral for a foe. Disappointment takes a bullet in the head (finally).

Good riddance, motherfucker...I just might piss on your grave one of these days.