[0259] midnight revelations

Self-destructive behaviour gives me some sort of catharsis that laughs in the face of resilience. I've got 99 problems, much like Jay Z, and probably much like everyone else on the face of this planet. But when it comes to a decision between sitting there in a bucket of venom or getting up and taking proactive measures to feel better, I usually choose the former, if at least for a bit. If you'll allow me the irony, there's something about self-destruction that makes me feel good, so darkly good. The pain I feel is magnified tenfold yet it simultaneously stops looming so large over the horizon of my life. I'm pleased when my mind races to places it shouldn't race to, I like the adrenaline rush that comes with paranoia. I feel human in those moments, I feel like myself.

I luxuriate in the throaty burn of one part reality and two parts gin. 

[0258]

Why don't you tell me that "if the girl had been worth having she'd have waited for you"? No, sir, the girl really worth having wont wait for anybody.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

[0257] Y

That perfect letter. The wishbone, fork in the road, empty wineglass.

The question we ask over and over. Why?

With my arms outstretched, feet in first position.

The chromosome half of us don't have.
Second to last in the alphabet: almost there.

Coupled with an L, let's make an adverb,

A modest X, legs closed. Y or N? Yes, of course.

Upside down peace sign. Little bird tracks in the sand.

Y, a Greek letter, joined the Latin alphabet after the Romans conquered Greece in the first century - a double agent: consonant and vowel.

No one used adverbs before then, and no one was happy.

Marjorie Celona, Y