Status Updates From Your Glass Head against the...

The part of the cure where you think you’re cured and you go back to doing whatever it was that needed to be cured.

Blowing kisses to yourself in the mirror.

Mouthing, “Fuck you,” right up against a mirror.

Wishing you were never born, you deprive yourself of being able to wish for it and you suck.

That moment when you start to have a little feeling/emotion and you look back on having just acted out of not having any feelings/emotions.

That weird moment.

That moment when you don’t have any feelings/emotions and you look back on having just acted out of having feelings/emotions.

That weird-weird moment.

Two types of eye contact: none and fuck you.

That feeling of regret knowing you’d make a much better idea than person.

Knowing that’s what you’ve done to yourself all your life anyway, so good job, much better.

Much much better.

“Ahhhh much better” would be a funny suicide note.

Living as an actor vaguely aware of a role in which you are comically dedicated to maintaining a version of yourself that is only an echo of what you think others think about you and even they are bullshit built of echoes.

And it sucks.

Man, I’m telling you, it sucks.

This is coming from a version of myself almost dead but grabbing the ankle of a version still standing.

Feeling like shit in bed at night.

Laying there like a brick from heaven that missed its target and now has to remain.

The way so many things go uncorrected and join the flow of things becoming the past.

The simultaneous explosion of guns in the faces of the entire firing squad, killing everyone except you, but you die of starvation, tied to the pole, laughing.

Grabbing the door for someone and saying, “Here, let me get that for you,” then putting your head in the doorway and slamming the door a bunch.

You can do whatever you want but you won’t because you’re just going to be like everyone else.

That thing where you go to shake someone’s hand but pull it away to slick back your hair except, instead of that, you reach into your pants and pull out a gun and shoot yourself.

Fuck yeah, that’s how you do it.

Instead of feeling like a dead rat being poked with a charred stick, feeling like a smiling dead rat being poked by a charred stick.

Which means fuck yeah, no more problems.

Quitting your job by walking towards the exit while pointing at different coworkers and saying, “Lemme hear ya say, ‘Ohhhhh-ohhhh,’” and then encouraging them to say “Ohhhh-ohhhhhh” back, while you nod and eventually just leave and never talk to anyone again.

The very real and very disappointing prospect of not dying by sword through heart.

The very real chance when someone tries that to you, the sword doesn’t go in and their hands slip off the handle and run down the sword and they hold up their badly cut hands to protect themselves from whatever you’re going to do but there is nothing more you want from them.

Because with some people, there is nothing left to do.

A quick painless death.

A long painless death.

A medium-sized extremely painful and terrifying death.

A cast completely enclosing your head.

A cast completely enclosing your head, on fire.

Having to ask for mercy from the one who lit it.

Having to know the right words.

Or just kneeling down and letting your head burn.

Hey man, sometimes you just have to kneel down and let your head burn.

For you, all the bricks from heaven such that their shadow freezes you long before you’re crushed.

Guy on the subway half-asleep but trying to pull out his tooth, I believe in you.

Guy on the subway half-asleep but trying to pull out his tooth, I believe in you. Guy on the subway falling asleep but jumping awake every so often and wildly stabbing a pocket knife around before going back to sleep, I understand.

Drinking your own blood off the ground to stay alive for three more seconds.

Drinking your own blood from a squirt gun, just for fun.

The feeling that you just want to bless everyone by shooting them with a squirt gun filled with your blood.

But no.

Your wrist in a dull guillotine.

The feeling that if you head-butted a cannonball coming at you, the cannonball would explode into dust and the dust would smell so pretty and it would shower you and you'd be smiling.