I say this and then realize that everyone says this at one time or another. I say that and then realize that no one normally says that to one another. Then I bring them together only to fizzle down, chin in hand, a loosing attitude, and needing to get somewhere else anywhere just not there wherever I am.

It's a dreamy thing to be honest, a train of thought forever hooked in the past yet flailing wildly in the wonderland winds of what could be. I see myself there, like I should have been, but never really here where it counts.

So I reach down and pinch a hand full of skin. I massage it and it rolls from my fingers back onto my muscles and veins. Behaving slowly and deliberately, I want to know who I am for the moment, to feel real like an earthman. As I think and compare and want and release, I am gone again, someone else that I have never been.

From the first time I jumped a curb on my bike I was the fusion of myself and someone else. I could do, and I can do, but I cannot realize why one would do.

I am hollow. I weigh next to nothing. You can see through me with a very bright light. But the things that I have to do to just simply be around weigh more than a million pounds. I hear nothing but silences that need filled. I am scared that someone else might feel bad because of me, a bullshit mirage, a frantic H. S. Thompson fear and loathing gig rip off thing .

Then they are taken all the wrong way, these things that I sometimes say. I stand accused of unrealistic ideals that can never be achieved. Don't be silly they say, this is this and it will never go away. So I light a smoke and nod and fade, real stealthy man like, my digs that no one really sees.

Given the chance to talk freely it's very difficult to imagine what I might come up with today. I know for sure though that I am in constant battle with all of my potential selves, and consequently I am in need of diagnosis, I need some cognitive redirection, because it seems like I always fail to be me.