What Do I Want?

I want to take time off to completely be free without the commitments of living with parents, doing some prescribed work for someone else, even without the commitments of being in a new place and feeling obliged to travel it. I want to spend hours on the floor. I want to take dwelms and dwell in other realms. I want to reward myself for years and years of completely unnecessary work. I want to answer to nobody, not even close friends. I want to expel from my life anyone who attempts to convince me that I’m being self-destructive. I want to sell out and be a negative role model and regret everything and end up in a sobbing heap. I want to f*ck up the hotel. I want to forge my own path through fire. I want action, love, power and resources, gritty loop packs and a snare drum to beat just to piss off the neighbours cos I know $100 will shut them up. I want to be proud but still hold the door for some old woman. I want to flip the dime, the sensitive side down this time. The living breathing reptilian up. I want to exhibit all the characteristics of a sentient beast, the insight of a poet but the reckless disregard of a psychotic. I want to set the tapestries on fire, punch the security guard and knife the tyres of the competition. I want to be American. I want the piano part from Black Smoke to be obsessively stuck in my mind for days, and I want days to become weeks. I want Buenos Aires to be second home, I want to kill someone with his own glasses. I want to carefully snap this twig and in the end be left with nothing but two short sticks that used to match.

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