State of the Boat. #8

Sometimes my balls feel like tits. Bloodlines. New Buffalo. The fine wrinkles, we have all of them.

I swear this time I’ll never forget. I swear this time I absolutely refuse to. So I’ll write it down in my calendar, an electronic reminder for Google to not forget until it’s deleted. Or some such other nonsense.

I fear these updates are read by one person only. Even those who were adamant in regards to keeping up, aren’t. Then again, I swore to my best friend when I was 8 that I’d keep in touch. Now I can’t even remember his name. His face though, well I’ve long come to accept my brain works very differently than most.

Another month of posts, poems and stories and nightmares, oh my? HA! I even lost out on a great job opportunity because of them. I’ve long come to accept not everyone will get it.

“Do you think Stephen King apologizes for what he writes?” Thanks for the encouragement, Mike. Damn I wish things had turned out differently with that guy.

5 months to go before it’s a year. Wow, that’s pretty fuckin odd when put in that perspective.

And I ate meat today. Now I want to puke. Puke all over the waiter, the counselor, all over the random restaurant customers, all over myself, all over everything.

Show them. Show all of them. Show them just how disgusting we all really are.

Damn, maybe this should have been a poem instead?

– Joey
P.S. Oh ya, and I’m going by the pen name of Joey Velasco now. Pretty apt moniker, wouldn’t you agree?


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