I’ve been driving through sadness. Bad weather in my head. It’s been a punch-in-the-face-day. I was somehow happy, then life got in the way. Took another one in the gut for thinking of someone as a fag. Hated myself, went to church for it. Met god in a cafe, did small talk as if with an old friend. It takes time to become old friends and passion to become anything. Last Christmas I wished for the Chinese to make me new shoes. They came from India. Happiness comes from India. My friends call it yoga. I’m the last leave to fall in autumn, the first to be eaten by worms. I’m the digested inner world of a featureless creature. There on the pavement I asked myself what’s the difference between me. Of course I got no answer, I’ve never been a reliable person. There was a time when a tragic was comical, now it just feels real. I took a photo, it showed my face and made me forget my loneliness. I never felt like the person in the photograph. If I’d color my life, I’d draw a red line and cross it out somewhere near the end. A future is growing up without a yesterday inside of me. I’m doing okay, I swear. It just been a punch-in-the-face-week in an overall okay year.