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Pull myself out, take a moment to reflect.

Once when I was nine, someone told me to shoot for the stars.

And I'm back here, smelling like stale cigarettes, wearing five dollar clothes from the thrift store, taking shot after shot with a greasy-haired guy who's named his dick 'Batman'.

It's funny how once you've had enough you can't tell it's cheap and shitty any more.

In between gasps for air I realize that if I took the alcohol intravenously I wouldn't have to do this.


Pull myself out, take a moment to escape.

If I were on the beach in Tahiti right now, I would probably have a sunburn.

I exhale and I wish smoke would come out. My skin's peeling where the grease flecks landed, and for a moment I wish I weren't so sick of irony. My cash register has little pictures of the menu items on it so, y'know, I don't have to read or nothin'.

Yeah, this is the good life. Gravy train. American Dream Express.

Complimentary fried apple pie is still better than a lot of people get.


Pull myself out, take a moment to breathe.

Seeing something beautiful used to be enough for me, instead of owning it.

The words come out with practiced ease, I don't even have to think them anymore. "It's like duckspeak," I say, and I pat myself on the back for the clever reference. Space. Crushing. Restrained. Personal freedom. Growing apart. We're young. Play the field. No, I understand, really.

I don't even have the balls to yell about it anymore. Six easy payments of blood, sweat, and tears.

Passing bad checks from the (moral) bank.

The Dow Jones Humanity Index is plummeting.


Pull myself out, take a moment to adjust.

When I was nine, that guy was a dickhead.

Push myself in, Batman first. There's sweating, yeah, and moaning. Everything's all sticky, whee. I heard in a song once that this was when I was supposed to feel most alive. Maybe he was talking about doing coke or something.

I start thinking about bacteria and viruses and this whole microbiotic world that's happening, and I start thinking about the little piece of liquid rubber that's seperating us.

My extremities are feeling kinda numb, and I'm drunk enough to think this is a clever metaphor.


Pull myself out, take a moment to hesitate.

This is all, isn't it?

Twenty years later, here is where I am. All that time I logged on the see-saw, yeah, it was for this.


Pull myself out, take a moment to remember.

Well, isn't it?

It's a good thing I don't watch TV, 'cause if I wanted what I'm supposed to want I'd have poured out my skull by now.

At 3:40 in the morning I finally manage to nail a Gmaj7+5. At 3:05 my finger started to bleed, which I think lends a nice fluidity to my playing and also makes the guitar look that much cooler. To celebrate I get on the freeway and stop at every rest stop until someone calls me a faggot.

On the way home I discover I can't drive with my eyes closed. I'm sober for this one so I don't have an excuse.

Also, I finally got my hair dye right so it looks like my head is on fire.

This morning the sunrise looked like the end of the world.

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