Ramble Bamble Bee

I sit here. Trying to write. Wanting to write. But not a single story crosses my head and all my thoughts seem irrelevant and completely pointless. My life at this point seems completely pointless. And I’m in search of a point, some point, that I can move towards.
No such luck. Luck is something I haven’t been lucky with.
And then the phone rings.
And then I ignore it.
I ignore it not because I am a recluse and don’t believe in telephones and people and what they stand for; I ignore it simply because I couldn’t be bothered to move my fat ass. And it is funny because they call it a mobile, but it is the last thing it is. I have to move to pick it up. It moves because I move, without me it is but a dead inanimate thing that is anything but mobile.
Press me, on. Press me, off. Its a funny world isn’t it.
Maybe I should listen to some music, fatass just doesn’t want to move today. Fatass is content sitting on fatass and typing alphabets from the English language in ways that could never be imagined by Pedro, the illegal Mexican immigrant who lives in California and works the night shift at Burgerking. But then again he can type in a language I can’t type in but then again he probably doesn’t own anything to type on but then again I could be wrong.
The world is changing.
The real reason I don’t move is because I cannot. I cannot because last year I was reckless. And recklessness leads to immobility, not always but in my case it did.
Sometimes the things you don’t want to remember are the things that you cannot forget. They play out in your head over and over again like someone pressed the repeat button on the playlist of your memories. You want to stop these memories, pause them, delete them, cancel them. But you can’t because you think you control your head but you don’t. Your head controls your head and you don’t control anything.
The sad thing is you control everything.
I didn’t have to go to that party that night. I didn’t have to mix my drinks. I didn’t have to steal someone’s car keys and take off.
But I did. I wish I didn’t. But I did. I wish someone invented a time machine and requested me to test it out. I wish alcohol didn’t make you foolish. And I wish could walk. But I can’t.
I am fatass. Pointless. Legless. But not wordless.

Fly.

Silent night. Holy Night.
All is calm.
You walked into a bar.
The stool was too high.You sat on it anyway. You reached for the stars and they gave you beer with a fly in it. Crawling for life at the bottom, of a glass, of your glass. What a life. The life of a fly. The life of someone who has wings. Wings that make you fly, and make you stupid enough to explore the depths of a glass full of beer.
Beer is sour . Stay away from it be you person or be you fly.Because my friend, Rules are rules. Broken to be broken, meant to be meant.