Impact

Ah how you see the secret of life unravel before you like a predictable romantic comedy. You know the lines before they are spoken but you still hold on with bated breath for the punchline.

Your life now consists of jumping from lily pad to lily pad of distraction, keeping the blood alcohol level high enough to keep the edges of your vision blurry. You sit on the express train from Queens and at every quiet moment between pockets of reception Life rears its ugly head at you. You long for the South, or the wide open spaces of the West, you long for a life you never knew and only imagine with its white picket fences and summer blockbusters, you see the years run away from you with nothing to show for it but piles of confusions and scribbled notes on pieces of paper. I remember the summer of 1998, I remember dry sweat and roasting marshmallows, I remember the soundtrack of 2001 like it's etched in my spine and the sprinklers that would come on when we slept in the backyard and all America lay at our feet. 

Sometimes I think there is something of America in every fiber of my being, something of the heartland that permeates my cells and calls to me when New York cannot keep my blood from boiling. Sometimes I see the winding course of my life laid out so plainly and I cannot follow it because how could I force you to follow such a winding path when your life is much easier without it. 

This morning I found a dead baby bird in the flower pot on the fire escape. Perhaps it's an omen. 

But what the fuck is the point of looking for signs from the Universe

When reality is already swirling your head 

In the toilet bowl.