You'll catch me in the rye.

I've lost a bunch over the years. I've seen rise and fall, as world around me. As much as a human can. I don't understand the niceties that surround me. Forced capitulation to a rule unwritten. Do you want me to speak? I'll elaborate for a binary friend.

I've spent my life trying to understand. I got to watch people, early in life. I had been to 13 schools in 12 years. I saw the try, I saw the want. I saw the greatest evil manifest. You don't really have bearing in my sea of discourse, do you? With your permission I will elaborate.

There is a sea, friend. It is a wash of childish intent, and a want of acceptance. Only once in my capitulated learning career that I was "popular". Did I mention a sea? Our interaction is based on want and perception of it. The "cool" kids, they were unaffected by the social paradigm presented to them. Where the kids who had ideas were shunned. Gah, those kids had true knowledge in those days.

I grew poor, never left the caste, yeah? I work 60 hours to support art, and drugs. Nothing ridiculous, mind you. I've never done meth, crack, or heroin. If you can name a psychedelic though, I've probably done it. My first stint with drugs was my freshman year of highschool. I did it to be cool, yeah? I smoked a bit of pot with the Jocks and the Punks. Bit of a chameleon, I was. Built to take punishment physically, built to take your hurt, emotionally.

I was a great witness to psyche in those days. I saw kids wanting to belong. I saw kids trying so hard not to give a #. Man, they were the same #ing person. You had a mish mash of children trying so hard to cast off responsibility that they didn't have. God, it was #ing beautiful. If you found the right circle, none of that # mattered. Find yourself next to a drug dealer in highschool, you'll meet some #ing cool individuals.

I lost those cool people in my life. Particularly a punker named Sarah. She was cool as #. Not like those other #s that pretended. She had feelings, she knew exactly what I said before it was so. I wish to meet her again in adulthood. I don't get that satisfaction though do I? Regardless.

It was 2000 and I was in a rich neighborhood. Went to school with kids too privileged to acknowledge their fortune. We did a # ton of acid. Oh, yeah, a # ton is quantifiable. I just remember how home I felt with those guys. They didn't give a #. They wanted to talk about concepts, about space and time. They were a unique few. I'm glad I knew them.

I only had the opportunity to stay with them for about a year. # sake, what a year. We did some hood #. We robbed video stores of porn, we skateboarded in parking buildings. We told everyone to go # themselves. We were gods in those moments. In those days you couldn't tell us a thing. We were god.

God, the moment I have been dreading. Present day. I am lost at sea. Your hero is conflicted. To see so many come about and fall off. I find it to be indicative of my nature. Am I a creature of past? am I a product of future? These things, thing as they are, do they control me? Or Am I creating these things to keep busy?

I'm odd as #. I mean no harm in my life. Rather, I protect every ideology just to find a glimpse of those days. Can I meet you again Sarah? Or am I subject to autonomy that bleeds not for me, but for a select few. I am here simply to reminisce on a past that doesn't exist, so that I can build on a future that is just as illusory. Why can't a moment last.

Tell me dearest binary friend, why I can't be so on/off as is chosen. I #ing love you, friend.