keep to this weird memory of the golden kid i seemed to be at this time one week ago, where he went and why I made him leave-it was surely some sort of something at it's peak; the way they all flocked to me; I didn't like it then, for I knew that sickness would steal the appeal that had brought everything to me soon-that grey would drain the colour from me all too soon, and the one they all seemed to respect so much would be something I could only be momentarilly; a night at best..and in this rest, and reflection I am so aware of the confidence that is lacking...the search for meaning continues, and without a project to keep my thoughts centred I am lost and losing sight of self-and losing grip on the tiny thread that hold arrogance in its proper place so to let a little bit of narcissism show upon this face....
I long to be seen by you-somewhere bright when I am healthy; the ones I never want to see me always do; and its you I wish to witness me while I stroll by unknowingly-why must she be the one who speaks to me now as I would speak to you; I have never seen the need for scratching my name into a place where so many others have already carved in their ugly shapes-she is a picnic table in a public park, and I long to carve my name in a tree somewhere off in the woods; thats what you sort of seem like to me...but how could I tell this to her without seeming so rude...

Nothing interests me really-there is so much to see through, yet i long for something as shallow as to simply be seen by you; the one I can already see through; perhaps why I don't wish to see you; and only wish to be seen. Without words you might understand how I feel about your presence; only in socializing do I feel so inclined to make you think I think of you, I care for nothing-and the thought of her pressed in the grass under another bothers me little these days. I don't think of sex in the same way; she no longer belongs to me, and I no longer to her-I look for pictures of pretty unknown things and this city has little to offer me.
I roll to the bar as thirsty as ever-as socially uneasy as ever...the blonde bartender waves at me, perhaps only because I'm a regular, but she's always seemed a little sweet on me, and I her, but that's all that will ever come of this, a look in the eye when I leave her her a tip, and quiet 'thank you' unheard amidst the obnoxious chatter of 20 year olds who think the best way to get drunk is to be as grabby and ugly as possible.
We sit at a table, and I listen to older boys make jokes to compensate for their lack of courage-filthy jokes about murdering girls and eating assholes-as if such rancor could prove to somebody the words to remind us all that they still have an active sexlife-blatant oogling that never leaves its seat for anything more than a look up a skirt; it all sort of sickens me and the sitdown humour strikes me as somewhat pathetic when all you'd have to do is just talk to her; tasteless.
I continuously try to return the conversation to matters that interest my sincerity-where people work, projects they're working on, one of them has a 3 and half year old son...and I intentionally return to such matters despite the fact that I know I'm spoiling their fun...I am the serious one at a table of laughing hyenas; I am the world's worst wingman too for I usually just sit by myself and drink drink drink in the dark while others flirt with ugly girls who need to be fucked by something every night-I look for the one who I might have a conversation with; the little sister that speaks about things that interest me but she is nowhere to be found-I by an old aquaintance a birthday round and thank time when it hits two o'clock, another night I hung on 'til the end-somehow I feel gratified as if another day of work is in the book-but this job drains my bank and I am not entirely sure why I give my love for alcohol a straw....perhaps in hopes of being seen in passing by someone I could never care about; then I might be understood in some strange way, and for some reason I long for this as of late-the most unfulfilling of relations; yet it seems more meaningful to me than sitting back in my seat and laughing at jokes...when the truth of the matter is they're all still sitting on their asses; who am I to care or to judge; we all overcompensate for some things I suppose...this goes nowhere and I am scatterbrained. ah well, the sun is shining, the work week begins all over again-unchallenging and as easy as ever for someone who knows all the ins and outs of a simple blue collar job-yet this week i find myself a veteran riding alongside somebody older than me who asks too many annoying questions...i work harder than I have so to make it seem worthwhile, sweat buckets and look skinny and trim-narcissism will be filled to the rim by the end of the week and I will still be disappointed with the looks others sometimes praise of me-all because everything still sort of means nothing to me; without your eyes, whoever you are, I remain invisible.