Fire Rains Down

I’m bored, so here’s a rant.

(Weed, Fullmetal Alchemist, Xanax, curry, porn, and DeLorean)

I demand more out of my life, my environment, my being, than even I realize. I want each seed to sprout to its fullest. The palm trees must never stop swaying, hissing. I need each flower to be more perfect than the one before it. The darkness must be deafening. The light must be blinding. Each partner must be overwhelming. My wounds must never stop bleeding. The pleasures to my flesh must send me to the moon and back a thousand times. Every breath must drown me. Each word I choose to utter falls under my strictest scrutiny. Huge expectations beget tremendous letdowns and meltdowns– or do they?


More than seeking all of life’s sensations, I demand each one of my memories to be worthy of a journal entry–perfect portrait reminders of that time at the movie theatre, the produce cooler, being the getaway driver, saving the neighbor’s dog, being rocked to sleep, the first time I tried sushi, the first time Chef M let me play sous at a catering gig, Africa, the sexy stinging pain from scraping my knees on a hot tennis court— each one a perfect memory, more perfect than the last.

I will never surrender the authenticity of my life, my personhood, my being.


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