There are some nights i feel like i didn't get over all the stuff i put in me. By that i man ALL of it; not just the chemicals, but the music; the emotion; the fiction and the prose. Nights when you look around on the freeway and suddenly you're doing ninety miles an hour and asking yourself "Where the hell AM i?" Usually this happens to me at night; and i think it's something to do with a combination of dusk, music and having all the windows down in the car. Nights when trees look like smoke and signs look like people and you get off the freeway wondering what burned down, and thinking what a stupid place that is for that guy to stand. Nights when you tear up driving past the Wonderbread factory, because it just smells so RIGHT. The sort of nights when you get that creepy sensation that you're just a spectator for a while; watching a movie of someone else living the life you thought was yours. The disconnected feeling that if the car ahead of you stopped, and there was some huge pileup, it'd all just be an exercise, and you'd get another shot at it tomorrow. That sort of night when you lie on your floor, talking on the phone and slowly teach yourself synesthesia. These are the kind of nights that make me crave shirts from Goth 'n Go; specifically the one (Black, naturally) that proclaims in simple, plain but bitingly satirical letters: "Role Model."


Cwruidth is a sporadic columnist for The White Room; often contributing his opinions and personal pieces in stream of consciousness prose. Other contributions include "Just What the Hell is Morality?" "Who Told These People They Could Leave Their Homes?" and "Oh SH*T! What time is it?" and can be found on The Razorclown's "Delerium…" and "The Knoll Blog." He is happily involved with his high school sweetheart, a budding artist, and lives with his family in Sacramento, CA.

- posted by Third @ 9:58 PM