n'est pas

It is, yes, raining, and that's all the music around here for the last hour. I am wearing no makeup, wearing glasses and listening to weather. I need a cigarette and the pack I got for my birthday is running low, I need an explanation folded into the surgeon general's ramblings, I need control of the on and off and the flat dim on which I'm stuck until further notice.
It's not the way this weekend was told, yeah birthdays mean something I know they don't but I was hoping could we just pretend for just a godamn minute.
Something managed to cut through the layers of sarcasm and general detatchment and my fucking feelings were hurt yeah happy birthday to those.
I want to show from crazy, my head wraps around and around and can't latch on to how I am the so possibly insane oh thats just her yeah its wierd one and how I see things worth a shot at salvage even though previous ventures left me bruised and bleeding in public. And this we call crazy yeah.
While this such complete disregard for the only godamn person still trying is so what to expect, oh yeah it's just like that.

I don't want a relationship, not from any of you already bored with her and her and her. I don't even want the empty sex you treat like a motherfucking higher calling. I just wanted the decency that friends afford one another, to just put it first sometimes it doesn't even have to show we hide from image and normal with the best of them. Do I have to pretend a friendship with us also, are we really so subcategorized into that?
Acting as messanger conjured a strange voice, distant and simpering. That business tone reserved for recently filed folders. My reply remained amused because I never stay in order or in the drawer, and one day he'll find me camping on a different synapse smack in the middle of some modest mouse lyrics.

Jesus every damn time I start crying I write something like this self-riteous passive aggresive diatribe attempting to justify what is essentially an emotion. Oh god. She showed one look. No right there between overextended metaphors. Tally ho!

Fuck it. Jenn and I are going to hit an all time low over whatever they pass for food at elmyr. We will ask the Shins crowd if they are ready to sort of rock, with wilting index and pinkie filter approving the safety of the chord progressions. Collectively they seem about as hard core as an electric toothbrush.

And I do not I repeat DO NOT want to see a cluster of errant hipster clusterfucks late to the show dressed like an excetionally well-dressed gang of rogue dance fighters. What I mean is lets get out now.

I am too tired to balance talk with action.
Maybe someday I'll go up in arms on the surprise counterdefense, while unprepared you cut your maginot lines into that familar formation and that will end that. But really I wanted to use that maginot lines-as-drug-reference bit and leave, because it leaves them scrambling for context.

Bedtime is beckoning with light trails of slow ballroom round and round.
I bet you don't even recognize me in disguise with glasses, I say to the mysterious so and so...

The ballroom is occupied. Do not disturb.