Without any effort at all, the thought of ‘why bother’ sails across the forefront of my mind. Matters not, the cause. It goes along its way just the same. Sometimes it passes. Gone just as quick as arrived and not much afterthought, if any at all given towards where or why it went.
The exquisite ideologies found ‘round the barroom. Everyone is a critic. A poet. A genius and star. Everyone’s an asshole, if they are to be seen by the right person. Likely been this way since humans first started getting together to drink poison. Another wildly interesting phenomenon in and of itself.
What is worth when weighed in the eyes of some other? And what be if those eyes are absent? What then? The reflected eyes above the sink? They are not always the kindest pair. Not mine. Not to me.
My fingers are all cut up. It was visceral, last night. A full load of emotions all built up to singing, screaming and playing to the maximum intensity as I was capable. I recall almost passing out at the microphone. And if I fell, who might catch me?