sabi nga ng ciudad: 'there's a lonely road to sunday night'

If I’m really brave I’ll stop fooling myself into believing that I like what I’m doing. I’ll just walk away and find new means of paying the bills. But the thing is I don’t really know what I want anymore. My mood’s fucked up. My mind is fucked up. I’m an emotional wreck and I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Sometimes there are thoughts that come up like a mirage on an extremely lonely week. Should I follow these thoughts and see where it would lead me?

It’s a Joni Mitchell night and hopefully a bottle of gin will materialize beside my laptop. Cig, gin and a blank sheet of paper, these would probably make my night right. But if I’m really brave I wouldn’t smoke tonight. I wouldn’t drink tonight.  I wouldn’t fuck. I would just ride the funk out. Detox. And write. Just fucking write.


It’s past midnight. I am not writing. I’m listening to old Bamboo songs with cigarette burning on an ashtray and a tepid gin on my side. I need to have my head checked. Seriously. 


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