methodical madness

I figured Lou Reed would help me slow things down, no one really gets the best gas mileage if they keep living in the fast lane.

This little lion is normally tamed, but he’ll start clawing like a jackal if agitated. And did he claw. I’ve been to the ends of the world and back lately with complete disregard of the speed limits. If I’m being honest, I don’t fancy it. If it’s so great, then why do I feel self destructive while doing so? They say a good distraction is the best cure for a hangover, and I dwell among the living with an average of 227 hangovers a year. It isn’t fun wanting to die 227 mornings out of the year. But then again, the size of the hangover is usually a sign to the mythical legend that took over last night. One of the few people you will never meet, and they usually come by night.

That person negates all the good I do by day, but I can’t rid him because he’s simultaneously the source of my sanity. You can’t be good all the time. Timshel, dictates our gift of freewill. That’s the good and bad, it perpetuates the world like the wind and the water. Whatever you’ve done, you can never go back to change it. Your sense of atonement dictates your eligibility for the rapture. I’m in flux if I believe the rapture will ever happen, but doesn’t that mean the world would end? Perhaps it’s already happened, and no one got tickets.

By day, I’m the local hero; by night I’m an arrogant criminal, selfishly exercising a childlike sense of adventure. My wind and water. You can’t be taught the method to someone’s madness; madness is instinct.

Mr. Hyde

Dr. Jekyll

 

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