I don’t talk. I can’t talk. When I speak up, listen. I don’t really say anything. I can’t talk about myself.

I will talk about what others feel. I will talk about the world. It’s a fcukin world. Let’s all fcuk up. It doesn’t matter. We will eventually be forgotten. Even this won’t be remembered. It’s not important. We’re not important.

Tell me what happened. I’ll tell you it didn’t. But in the sh!t of creation, my words won’t matter. Friends will notice but the world wouldn’t. It’s impervious to our little schemes. Who am I anyway? And who are you? I will shut my mouth on this. When I talk it might mean something to people. It won’t mean anything to me.

Don’t ask me to speak up. You can listen but you won’t have to. I will say many things about them, about this, about trash, about lies – but don’t ask questions.

About myself.

I don’t know who I am.

We’re better off not knowing.
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Originally written on Tuesday, 12 August 2008 | midnight/drunken sentiments