#5

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Words: And here you will see the awninged sepia stretch of Brady, eaten by the sun, chewed up by tavern regulations long before then. I've stayed nestled in the dirty palms of my city for so long that I'm catching a ride in late August and going out east just to escape it, huzzah. I'm only scared that there won't be enough bars for me to feel comfortable, even though I always thought that I would find more things to be scared about when I finally left. My fear-void can probably be attributed to recent soul-picking and the irrationally startling realization that I am not, in fact, a lonely person, which led to this compounding psychic discomfort about why am I not lonely even though I'm so often alone, physically and also more emotionally, like in conversations when everyone is gushing jokes and talking about parties and I feel so Other-ed it's ineffable. And I used to be lonely, I'm sure of it. So if I'm not anymore, did I somehow seal that emptiness on my own, and if so, how did I do it, what did I seal it with, and is it good that I need people less? Is it good that I would now rather be on my own than in a relationship or any sort of tight-knit community where I have obligations towards and reliance on other people? Has this changed me, made me more self-sufficient but also more prickly, less thoughtful, more neglectful of the people who I reallytrulydeeply do care about but maybe no longer need, at least not in the need-like-oxygen way that I did before? And it seems unnatural, to me, that rather than growing mature and laying down my tethers, forming roots and obligations as seems vital to healthy development, I've actually done the opposite and cut my ties short. It feels vaguely irresponsible but also good in a cold way, like that sickly satisfying feeling that you get when you realize that you have the potential to hurt someone, but not for them to hurt you.

Music: Barnacles by Ugly Casanova