There are two kinds of people in this world. People who find something they want and are content, they're the nice ones. The most of the lot, I'm guessing. The lucky ones. Then there are those, you see, like me. The cursed. The ones with an insatiable burn to never stand still. That find a love only to tire and yearn for another. That are full of life and energy and gusto and yet, always have that empty feeling inside. They're incomplete and they're wild and crazy. And everyone sees a little aura about them maybe. Or maybe I'm just crazy.
I feel crazy. My mind's always racing whether I want it to or not, and for the life of me I haven't a clue as to where it's headed. My fingers twirl and pull at my hair constantly like some chronic disease. There's no cure because how harmful could hair-pulling possibly be? It's a tick. It's nothing. A bad habit at most. Nut I will say this; it's maddening. It makes me think that maybe that's why I love watching old movies so. Perhaps the beauty in simple imagery gives me peace. Puts my finger to rest if only for a pair of hours.
It's the raw reality, I think. Why nothing was faked except a gunshot wound and a car ride, and computer animation was some futuristic guise. Richard Gere was still a young man back then, maybe my age, which is weird to see so clear in HD. It just goes to show that certain things save you immortal.
I wonder is Sam Shepard ever felt this mad.
Was he afraid of death? I feel like I should be much more so than I believe I am, but then again fear of death is reserved for those who have something to live for.
