Are you my Godot, or, Where are you, it's almost nighttime

" 'Well, shall we go?'
'Yes, let's go.'
They do not move."

Let me tell you about this one. There's this guy and he's waiting. Waiting for the wind to not blow so hard. Waiting for the clouds in the distance to break apart further and see the horrors that lie beyond the crags to his right. Waiting for his horse to not be so heavy. Waiting for his ungloved hand to come down from waving to the sky. Waiting for his hair to grow and cover his steely, hardened glare. Waiting for the gunner at his back to leave the frame so he can be seen more clearly.

But none of these things have come, not one has happened. And he's been here for at least 22 years and a couple months. So he stays on his horse, too afraid and too courageous to fall off. That's the thing about fear and courage, you can't have them both or you'll never get anywhere. Or, they are the same thing and weren't going anywhere anyway. He's really just afraid of the courage in his shiny boots and flowing cape. Stuck in a green mountain range on a black and white horse with fire in its eyes. He waits, and thought the wind had stopped and thought the chill had begun to thaw and thought the hooves beneath his haunches had begun to push him forward. They didn't and he stands still on 50 percent of the legs available for use. But, g-d, look at that horse's mane and look at that horse's tail and look at that flowing red cape. He must really be something when you get too close.

Just don't get too close.

And rejoice. emmanuel has ransomed captive israel! heavy hearts and heavy souls sing and swipe their credit cards and everyone now in unison takes a step to the left.

and the right.

"Ski Mask spending next weeks cash, he fast
And I don't even need a G pass I'm pass that
I'm passing em out now and you can't have that
And my chain Toucan Sam
That tropical colors you can't match that
Gotta be abstract"
Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.

When they really get to know you they will run

This is the story of my life in one thousand words or less.

Sometime after you are born, I am going to kill you.

"When his father dropped dead from a heart attack at forty-nine, Willy's sorrow was mitigated by a secret sense of relief. Already at twelve, just barely on the brink of adolescence, he had formulated his lifelong philosophy of embracing trouble wherever he could find it. The more wretched your life was, the closer you were to the truth, to the gritty nub of existence, and what could be more terrible than losing your old man six weeks after your twelfth birthday? It marked you as a tragic figure, disqualified you from the rat race of vain hopes and sentimental illusions, bestowed on you an aura of legitimate suffering. But the fact was that Willy didn't suffer much." Timbuktu, Paul Auster.
Theodore Gericault, Raft of Medusa.

I went Florida this weekend. I have never starved for a day except for under my own volition. But my art hurts.

I went to gather my things the next day and looked everyone in the eye but didn't say a word.
"I'm botching your handwriting here. Oh, do you want to talk about this?"
"No. I do not."
Because I didn't. But I would like to now. I smelled the ocean again and stood in the dark trying to see the horizon. You can't/I couldn't do it. But there were six highschoolers sitting on driftwood txting each other and smoking weed. I think that may have had something to do with it. Also, I stood without shoes and the water was warm and the sand was cold. I had twelve cups of coffee with my father.
I went to a wedding and I felt like I was on a raft, with silk flowers. Holding onto people who died when I knew them and now were falling into the water. I was holding my head and he, the groom, was waving toward the horizon (see above). Everything was beautiful until I started dancing and it started getting warm.

"Godzilla bankroll
Stones from Stilion
Yo I ain't got it all, that means I barely home
Trailblazer stay ballin
Revenge is my arts is crafty darts
While y'all stuck on Laffy Taffy"
-Ghostface