polyphony.

the cup runneth over.
 
spilleth, even.

right to the meat of things, then.

i is caught up in overwhelming inward conflict, and have been for some time.

i'm jealous. and i'm lecherous. and i'm ambitious. and i'm trapped. and i'm lazy. and i'm uninspired. and i'm in love. and i'm afraid. and i'm broke. and i'm contemplating God. and i be driving a lot more than i used to. and my car be breaking down like everyday.  and i'm getting dumber. but i'm getting wiser. i'm getting better. and worse. and though many have tried...

i'm doing it alone.

i mean.  i can't hold your hand. and you can't hold mine. truth is brutal, but it's hardly ever absolutely novel; hardly ever a real and utter revelation.

somebody almost always knew.  or knows. or will know.

*sigh*

i'm not talking in circles, kids. i'm cryptic because it's succint this way. bear with me... lucidity follows.

it seems like they're having fun.

...who?

everybody.

all i can go on is appearances. and the internet don't help because everybody's fronting on their myspace pages and their blogs and their websites. and i'm predisposed as it is, to coveting somebody else's life, because i feel my own slipping through my anemic fingers via 8:30-5 workdays and hour long commutes.

i hate my job.

it's gone beyond ridiculous. it's downright retarded. there's no room being made for my advancement. my manager has taken some sort of a disliking to me. the worst part is, i put up with it all just to be short on mad bills, and to be consistenly in the hole. i know i shouldn't be at this job, but if i quit now i'd be up a creek with no unemployment check, and i've got a whole rack of niggas who would flip their respective lids if i "quit a perfectly good job?!!"
 
i went to beatsociety  sunday night. i'm sitting there the whole time thinking, "this is what i should be doing." so of course i come home that night and can barely sleep for all the delusions of grandeur i'm having. 

sometimes i go back on this blog, or other things that i've written like this, and i always notice a trend or theme of subtle to overt complaint. i've years of it. i'm tired of bitching, pardon the expression (trying to cut down on the profanity). i'm always bitching. licking my own wounds and touting them, when they aren't much more than flesh wounds i personally inflict in these dumb-backwards battles i have with my own amiss sense of responsibility.

i don't know. i be scared yo.

then, my car overheats too much. i know one of these days the head/block is going to crack. i push it whenever i drive. every stoplight is torture, between me watching my temp gauge and contemplating my life.

and the mag is acting funny. one of my editors is moving to new york city in january. the other one barely speaks when i see her at random functions. i somehow was skipped (?!) for the fall issue.

and then. i be like,


all the time. cmon. you knew that was coming.
 
i could go on.

thats why i don't post many updates man. isht is depressing. 

be back.