“Well, he’s no Clark Gable.”

Two men whisper on the back roads,
shoulders hunched;
their collars are up around their necks
and their dogs drawn in on a short leash.
In the frigid dawn their breath
draws clouds against the gray horizon.

Their eyes scan the trees,
above the hills,
and they are wary.
Their dogs are restless
and completely silent.

—-

Did you ever hear that Postal Service song? How did it go? Right.

I want so badly to believe that “there is truth, that love is real”
And I want life in every word to the extent that it’s absurd
I know you’re wise beyond your years, but do you ever get the fear
That your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by?

When I think of “the fear”, I think of this and I think of “fear and loathing in las vegas”, not the title but a line from the movie, damned if I can remember it.

When I think of the fear. No, when I get the fear, like I can feel creeping up sometimes still, like today, my eyes feel too far back in my head. My pant legs feel too short and my shoes ridiculous. All these things that I want to do, but none of them energize me. The thought of these actions inexplicibly turns from exciting to draining, and I’d just like to lay down and sleep for a long, long time.

I make poor decisions when I get the fear. I quit dancing. I stay in more often than not. I start to judge the world, and worse, myself, with a scale that nothing can stand up to.

Indécise – Coralie Clément

Peut-être oui, peut-être non
Ca m’est égal de toute façon
À gauche, à droite, ça, je n’sais pas
De haut en bas, oui, pourquoi pas
Un jour où l’autre, on verra bien.
Toujours remettre au lendemain
Ce que je peux faire ce matin
Je ne sais pas me prendre en main…

Sometimes I know where the fear comes from, and why it comes, and what it wants. Sometimes it’s so simple.

Today, the fear is a fucking ninja. It’s sneaky and black and pointy, but I’ve seen its traces. Fuck you, the fear. Come back some other day.

Today. Today I don’t want you.