GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT

Automatic said everything is not what it seems. We don't live and die by the word here. And nothing is off limits to the manipulation of the creative soul. You see, everytime I tell a million people that my love life is shot and I spend hours crying in desperation and often think about what it would feel like to kill myself...I'm just being an artist. Give me a break. Do you think this is how I actually live my life? Currently I have been binging on Aleve. They say if you use this over the counter drug everyday, for a series of days, you could be jolting yourself right into the ground. It, evidently, causes heart attacks by the bottleful. I'm game. So I indulge. Six, maybe seven a day for about 3 weeks now. It gives me a lush feeling most of the time like being wrapped in cotton, dipped in starch, one of the two. But mostly, it helps me get over myself and puts me closer to my destiny. Waxing into oblivion. If I live to be 40, it will be a miracle of God. Which I completely belive in, so don't give up hope for me yet.
Anyway, this manipulation of the creative soul that I partake of...I don't feel guilty about it one bit. Who want's to hear about a trip to the laundromatt? Honestly? Wouldn't you rather be baited with the details of my sexual shortcomings, or hear about my desperation as I pine for Nicole, alone in this coffin of self-depravation? Sure you would. And if I can tell you that...tucked nicely in a soft, fluffy, but compelling metaphor. And play a little rock and roll in the background. Charmingly, at the ear-bleeding level. Then I am doing my job. Pretty damn well, I might add.
So...as the strains of The Arcade Fire blare in the background, think about me...alone, distraught, and hopped up on Aleve, contemplating the weight of desire in a sexually aggrevated cabaret of persistence. I need you Nicole. I need thee every hour.