This is street dog.
Your leg muscles are just meat to street dog.
Street dog is gonna’ take a nibble when you aren’t looking.
Street dog keeps it ruff.
Don’t mess with street dog.
When nobody can make you feel better.
And you can’t ignore it long enough to distract yourself.
And there’s no such thing as busy enough to forget about it.
And you just go deaf.
You’re not bored.
You just want to remember you’re alive.
Get higher, board faster.
Turn the music up.
Forget how you got home last night.
Remember falling asleep on the couch so you wouldn’t wake her up.
She hogged the blankets anyway.
But you’ve memorized the hills, and the ride isn’t such a rush anymore.
At least not enough to forget.
Your tolerance goes up, you blow out all your speakers.
There’s no one to hog the blankets.
And you’re not sure if that’s how you want it.
So you’re just left with that ringing in your ear.
But you always wake up one day and realize you feel it again.
You just have to make it until that morning.
When you wake up, and you’re back.
You always come around.
Just hold on.
You’ll come around to save yourself.
It will level out.
You want it? You can have it.
Are you sure you can carry it?
I’ll help you if I can.
I’m not trying to trick you.
I can be wrong.
I don’t need to win an argument.
People don’t really need to talk so much.
Just as well to bark.
You think people into what they are to you anyways.
If you hang around someone who thinks you’re a loser long enough–and you care about them–then you are a loser.
Let them have it.
I’m going to go be wrong somewhere far, far away from here.
And I’ll be wrong and alright.
We’ll all be alright.
Or at least we’ll be alright with not being alright.
Things we think we know about a person, relative to what we think we know about ourselves, relative to what we think we know about the world.
Ghosts, judging ghosts, judging dust.
So I stopped trying to answer their questions.
Even better, I stopped trying to explain myself to myself.
I built my own monolith in a field.
Mountains from dirt.
Incredible for no reason, and to no person.
Winds in any direction still lift, after all.
So tell me, what’s the difference.
Better yet, don’t.
There’s personal glory ahead.
Whatever wreckage I leave behind me, I must ignore.
Maybe I’m sorry, or maybe I’m not. Maybe I never will be. I’m not quite sure.
But at least for now, I must press forward at the expense of anything and everything that stands in the way.
The medics will address the fires.
My time is limited, I’ll see that finish line.
And if I do spin my tires, it will be for heat, not for you.
Not for anyone.
Tear the mirrors off, clear the track. Let’s go faster now.
Image note: Spanish Grand Prix, 1970.
It can be a little unnerving when the walls you spent so long building up get washed away in a high tide. Like you’re building with sand, and making no progress.
It’s no matter though, you always knew the walls were built out of sand.
You don’t find comfort in thinking they’ll protect you from getting washed away.
You find comfort in knowing they can be rebuilt.
Image note: This is a re-work of my previous post ‘Tracheal’ in preparation for its addition to the Super National store on Society6. All new colors and textures in 6k resolution for those who enjoy scrutiny! I actually ended up liking it a lot more than the original.