Hello, Dia Duit, Hola, Bonjour, Konnichiwa, Scraic?, Well…
Now that I have your attention… ahem,
Good night to you. I am Nicky but you can call me Nicky. You might know me, You might not. I’m sure you are dying to hear my story, where and how I have been and what i’m doing for the greater good but I would hate for you to pretend like you’re interested so lets skip the interrogation scene. I don’t do well at job interviews anyway.
My little guilty pleasure is writing. Yarp, plain and simple. Give me a pen and a piece of paper or a laptop and leave me be. It would take a conversation at a house party (Happy Birthday lads) with Jamie D (the big bear in this forest) to twist my arm to share a couple of my stories with you. So here is one I made a few weeks ago entitled “If you don’t understand his silence, You are pissing against the wind understanding his words” To the audience of PTS, Enjoy…
“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely — at least, not all the time — but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.” Hunter S Thompson.
The reason I write these notes is because I enjoy having a cigarette hanging from my mouth while I look at the keyboard and type whatever comes running through my head before it passes by and I forget about it forever and ever and oh yes, forever. The cycle of my life, you don’t have it. You have it, you don’t have it. No wonder you think what you think eh. The all amazing, all wonderful unknown. You never get a scar from happiness but bitterness leaves a big one and the routine of trying to remember sweetness will cut you, yet the only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.. We learn so little from peace. We will be remembered more for what we destroy than what we create.
We will never be as young as we are right now, as complicated as a badly written novel goes, choose your friends poorly, make as many mistakes as you possibly can and never check for the line, Don’t do what you want. Do what you don’t want. Do what you are trained not to want. Do the things that scare you the most .. All these make for great stories. You’re a fucking author and you don’t even know it. Don’t give me the simple accurate story I have observed a million times over..The only reason why we ask other people how their weekend was is so we can tell them about our own weekend. I want YOU to tell me the moments where your heart stops for a breather, show me your humanity. Moments of adrenaline where your grasps for breath are not for your benefit, those moments are to grasp the oxygen of others.. Get a little taste of what is going on around you. I’m not depriving you of that, you are depriving yourself.
When we don’t talk about the things that matter in life and shut them out, that’s when our lives begin to end. If we dont talk about things that matter ever, whats the point in being. Sure it’s ok to talk shit sometimes and fun too but we cant talk shit 24/7.
We are all a little dead inside. Prove it to me otherwise. Write me a letter and explain to me what I need to know, where I need to go and what I need to show. Show me a meaning and I will follow it. I admire addicts. In a world where everybody is waiting for some blind, random disaster or some sudden disease, the addict has the comfort of knowing what will most likely wait for him down the road. He’s taken some control over his ultimate fate, and his addiction keeps the cause of his death from being a total surprise. Give him a ciggie, a coffee, a spliff, a bottle of alcohol, a line of coke, a body blowing pill, a mind altering tab, give him a syringe. Some class A brother.
If you are reading this then you are in some sense mentioned in my novel, visa versa, Do you think we will make millions for this or maybe it’s alot easier not to let the world in on this tale. Our own little thing, our little secret.
So.. What matters to you? I wanted to make you a rum cake, but now it’s just a cake and i’m drunk.
Just for the record, the weather today is calm and sunny, but the air is full of bullshit.