Two weeks in the city of sin. I'm not sure I'll survive. But all around me, everything has become a distraction. Just an excuse to avoid all of the various creative projects I'm in the process of getting all wrong.
The music. The writing. The photography. The art.
I'm getting it all wrong. And I'm avoiding it at all costs.
Hopefully the trip will help clear my mind. I'm actually looking forward to the travel time, especially the terrifying four hours in a big metal tube a mile above the ground. I plan on writing. Snapping some photos in Vegas.
But I will probably just find some more distractions. Something to blame my failure on.
If my plane crashes, then let's forget that last line so maybe a hundred years from now I can be some obscure legend, tragically bludgeoned into the earth by the faulty wiring on a 747.
In the end this journal entry might just serve as my last will and testament. If my plane crashes, call the media, be sure to use the word "bludgeoned." In the headlines. On the little scrolling news updates at the bottom of the screen on CNN. On my headstone.
"Some local nobody 'tragically BLUDGEONED into the earth' in a freak jet crash today. Everyone else survives. Story at nine."
If the accident happens on the runway, before take-off, be sure to include "scraped."
Scraped and bludgeoned. Even if I live.
If nothing happens at all, then I'll just make it a point to hit my head on the overhead baggage compartment and bang my elbow before I get off.
Tragically scraped and bludgeoned, but alive to tell the story. Completely broke, with a really itchy new genital rash, but still kicking.
It's a miracle.
myspace.com/fracture |
www.falloutfracture.com
