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It was a hobby of mine. I’d go places, anywhere, and stare at the dead-eyed people who have made more than a few wrong choices in their lives. 19 year-old dads who broke the condom, or god forbid didn’t wear it at all. Smokers with holes in their throats who choose to still smoke. Alcoholics stumbling through the next fix. The real cream of the crop though, meth addicts. I fucking love watching meth addicts. It’s a magnificent one man show with all the roles filled by schizophrenic parodies of Peter Sellers.
I was content with this because I didn’t have much more to be content about. Was I watching as hollow inspiration to not make the same mistakes, or was I watching because I didn’t want to feel so bad about mine? No one makes all the right choices. We certainly live and learn in our time, some more than others. My mistake was living and being far too aware of it. I am condemned to Earth with these sad fucks. Loving, lying, and everything in between. It’s a real bastard of a catch-22.
Yeah, I’ve thought about suicide. Long and hard, to excess. A lyricist pretty much summed up my thoughts though. “The hopelessness of living, or the childishness of suicide.” Besides, I’m saving the one bullet I keep stocked in the revolver beneath my bed for when someone really misses me. When no one cares it’s a fruitless endeavor. I want someone to miss me when I’m gone. I want to destroy someone’s life with the carelessness of mine. You can write, you can film, you can act, and you can sing and fucking dance but the only true immortality is taking someone down with you. Headline news, the magic disparity between tragedy and statistics. I’d like to think some futuristic civilization will dig up my story and say “What an asshole.”
So when you are walking around your corporately owned grocer of choice, and you see someone in the cafe staring at you intently you may want to think what you’ve done with your life to end up here. Why did the fates intertwine me with you in this one moment of pure, subtle moment. Consider the mistakes you have made that light your face like a beacon of despair. Think that maybe I, the person sitting there in the cafe, may be your new friend or lover.
However, whatever you do, do not love me back. This is not a love story. We won’t fall in or out. We won’t dance and entangle ourselves in the hypocrisy of sex.
Because if you love me, one thing is for certain.
You are my mistake, and I will fucking destroy you.
