Dressed in Rum and Marihuana

i wanna write whatevas in myhead. but not much comes out anymore save for the effortless patterned and programmed responses we all learn to live with. the sadness hangs so low i got american idol contestants telling me to get it up, hey. it swirls a lot faster in my head than it did just 4 years ago. is this rate of thinking exponential? does it slow down? slow enough to make me wish for the time when it raced forward ubermensch? i could be creating music right now. i could be fishing. i could be fission. i could be standing in front of you saying this to your head but the nods wouldn't change. the attempt at understanding when standing under the bridge of communication. We haven't even figured out a way to approach it let alone cross one. not now, not yet. We will get there, just look at the rivers. I'll take the attempts any day. The pushing is the only fire to fight with. it makes me happy. that is where my happiness lies, in seeing you push back too. one wonders, does the other side ever think about giving up too? I think they'd give in, a given, for the same reasons I would, and I'd only do it if the whatevas in myhead ever stopped forming.