Drugs.

My lungs fill, and the smile returns. Miracles in zip-lock bags. But don’t be fooled, its not always this good. The smile is amplified, but so is everything else. Its not an RPG, you don’t get to control your destiny. So strap yourself in and make sure you’re ready for the ride. The trip is well worth it, believe this grin.

Drove through Earthquakes to get here.

Christmas meltdown. It swept me away as good as any swollen river could. Scattered problems, snowballing into a fucking brick wall. But only in my head. Tis the season to be jolly, but I’m not playing that game. Ignorance can only be an excuse for so long… eventually you must blink and scan your horizons. Evaluate whether you like it or not. Make a decision. The high road, or the chasm at your feet.

Music has been the savior. It always is for me. Built to Spill and Secret Knives are on high rotate. Casual Flying Lotus, and a sprinkle of Death Cab. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of buds and the best bass within St Albans, or so it seems in my fortress. The earth lets out the occasional violent shudder, and everything returns to normal, minus the distant sirens, angrily announcing their presence. Its been exactly what I needed. Sam time. With sporadic appearances from other characters I allow on my stage.

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

Shakespeare knew how it was. I can relate. Just make sure you choose your parts wisely. As the new year approaches, that’s more and more on my mind, my internal parchment.

Road trippin' with my two favourite allies.

Hard day at the office. Fake smiles and confident sales pitches in the rural wilderness. Frequenting towns you would only glance at sympathetically or use as a well-earned toilet stop. Convincing the locals of your job title, camera at the ready. The photo is the reward. Overpowering hay fever, a constant splutter. Resorting to a costly remedy. Running on borrowed energy and driving erratically. Debating the relevance of Nirvana while traversing shingle roads to nowhere. The truck is a haven from the punishing norwester. Kaikoura provides late arrivals, swift beers, amateur photography and casual road rage. Just another day in the sun.

In search of sleep.

The heat is blinding, and sleep is a distant luxury. My bed crackles uncomfortably as thoughts twist and turn. Agonising over superior play lists, while letting shuffle have the last laugh. Nervously checking technology. Craving a cigarette in the heat, and being amused by the irony. Perplexing financial situations, as Christmas looms like a tidal wave of drama. I welcome the New Year with open arms, and all of my misguided optimism. Not fully comprehending how much I will miss my friend, until after she is gone, and goodbyes are brief. Night time promises so much, but fails miserably. A metaphorical middle finger to a lack of time, and a lack of sleep. Whispering lyrics to a dark room, and meaning every syllable.

Town.

The wicked witches guard the entrance way, so enter at your peril. Dancing is a minimal requirement, in the land of drunken smiles. Bring your buddies, and see who can laugh the loudest. Billows of smoke usher from a collection of semi circles. The highest heels, the shortest dress, wins the war of affections in this meat market. The music is playing, but its only a noisy distraction as the horde swagger in time. Beautiful people saying ugly words. The illusion fades as sobriety hits. Quick! Quick! Like Cinderella at the ball, we must flee this scene, burger in hand. Until we drink some more.

December, Already.

Contemplating a not so distant future. Evaluating the past, while dismissing the present. Reinforcing my trust in the wisdom of gravy. Casual magic tricks in a cluttered kitchen. Weeds, weeds and more weed. Laughing with conviction. A downloading bonanza, co-in-siding with a stereo that understands bass. Conflicting ideology, and a production line of venues. Flee this ugly scene of drunken abundance. Medals for remembering my name, behind a mask of insufferable indifference. The beard says yes, while the mustache is a deal-breaker. Finding comedy in sadness, for all the right reasons. Gaining confidence from yr smile. Trying and failing. Too drunk to be underwhelmed. Observing different forms of dealing with loss. Restless dreams of intimidating lists. Coming to terms with contentment. Lavish spending to maintain the status-quo. A family afternoon that tested my patience, but ultimately provided a smile that reached my eyes. A coffee of magnitude and a longing for a dreamless sleep.

Sharing is caring.

Now that’s a philosophy i can relate to. Forget the hype, socialism isn’t all snow and slavery, vodka and bad cars. It’s just a poorly executed good idea. Sometimes titles ruin the best ideas. Like you and me. And sometimes ideas are merely dreams you don’t want to end. The reality is harsh, but I would rather suffer the truth than stumble blindly through the lies. A prequel that leads into nothing. A scrunched up piece of paper, lying in a forgotten corner of the room. I’m going to appreciate the present and the future will be what it is. Fucking swell.

Wash away the drunk, one sip at a time. The cup is your friend, until its empty. Then you disregard it like the rest. Get in line, march around a little, and feel that unnecessary sense of pride you don’t deserve. Add it to your ego, and now you’re the real deal. But you’re not, and no one is deceived. Expensive wrapping hiding a blank canvas.

9 to 5.

Initial fear and alarm, thinly veiled behind a mask of calm. Poor attempts at decision-making. Understanding you're fighting a losing battle, and there are question marks about the war. Cultivating a climate of motivation. Digging the newbies. Frightful time management. Endless chatter gives way to rad tunes. A hatred for A2s, balanced by a healthy dose of spontaneous flirtation. Frequenting Office Max. Polite exchanges of goods and services with unnatural vigilance. Paid routine and a love of Thursdays. Money is elusive, while time is everything. Corflutes can fuck right off. Livin' the dream, one pay check at a time.