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Hook me up!

Circle

Like I said, people are always trying to fix me up with someone. I usually agree just to be polite and, besides, you never know.

Maybe I’ll be set up with Mary Jane Watson, who Peter kept avoiding for months. This is what MJ said when they finally met:

A mom from my kid’s class has been running me through all her friends because she’s just a sweetheart.

And, because I figure, compared to what’s out there, I’m a catch – the bar’s pretty low, lemme tell ya.

She actually got me in touch with a producer from NBC for a segment called, Hoda and Jenna: Hook me Up!

I had a nice talk with the producer but I decided it wasn’t for me. I did tell them to keep me in mind for anything in the future.

Anywho, the segment I woulda been on ran today.

The woman, Michelle, seems like a nice lady, just not my type, so it’s good I said no.

I’ll let you know if I show up on it ever.

Speaking of dating, the Counselor gone but the Acrobat’s still (kinda) around. It’s all complex.

It’s a shame because the Counselor was cool, pretty, and smart as a whip.

On the flip side, I’ve been chatting with this one woman who seems lovely but super lonely.

Her: I don’t know. I just never connected with anyone. Not anyone worth connecting with, I guess.
Me: I get that.

I’m always surprised at just how many lonely people there are in the world.

In some ways, I feel a little lucky that I didn’t have friends growing up because it’s kinda like that old Edie Brickell song that goes:

Being alone is the
Is the best way to be
When I’m by myself
It’s the best way to be
When I’m all alone
It’s the best way to be
When I’m by myself
Nobody else can say goodbye

Legit. I believe that.

An old friend of mine just completely disappeared. Like Will Hunting at the end of Good Will Hunting.

Except I doubt it was to see about a girl.

And I’m a bit jealous. Part of me wants to do that.

Maybe someday.

Location: earlier today, being shown a broken wall where my son had to be cut out of on the Upper West Side. He was fine.
Mood: pensive
Music: I quit. I give up (Spotify)
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Memorto Mori

Remember that you have to die

One of the three books I feel everyone should read is The Godfather. The movies are great, but the book is worlds better because both the Godfather and Michael are good men in the books but monsters in the films.

Michael essentially agrees to run a mafia family in The Godfather to keep his own (real) family safe. But in The Godfather II film, he seems to forget why he agreed to run the mafia family – something he hated, originally – in the first place and ended up losing his wife and killing both his brother-in-law and his own brother for “the Family.”

He killed his real family for his fake family.

The tragedy of the Godfather films is that Michael forgot why he was there in the first place.

I’m telling you all this because I told someone from my past that I forgot that I loved her, which is why I was so awful to her.

Granted, there was a lotta craziness in my life when I met her, but it’s not very comforting to her or me.

The question she had, though, was obvious: “How is that possible? How do you forget you love someone?”

I ask myself that all the time.

And my answer is just like Michael did with Kay and Fredo. Just like men and women do when they cheat – emotionally or physically – on their spouse.

On normal days, people forget important – crazy important – things all the time. People forget to pick up their kids, forget to show up for some super important meeting, etc.

They forget what they really wanted in the first place, mistaking the noise for signal.

People even forget – all the time – that they’re going to die. That’s why the saying, memorto mori even exists. People forget to make the most of their time because we’re all not here long. But we forget that.

Everybody knows they’re going to die, but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently.

For her, she forgot that I was everything she had hoped her whole life for a date with a guy that she forgot she loved (not me, it’s complicated) who ended up marrying someone else.

And I forgot that I loved her, which, itself, is the most ridiculous thing ever.

Cancer and awful luck notwithstanding, I suppose we all live the lives we earn for ourselves.

Location: learning about officiating weddings in NJ
Mood: resigned
Music: you didn’t notice (Spotify)
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The boy and the dragonfly

On my Street

My buddy Wall-E helps out a ton at the gym with various maintenance tasks that are beyond abilities of Chad or myself – either due to skill, time, or both.

One thing we’ve been meaning to do for a while is to replace several of the lightbulbs in the gym because the ceilings are pretty high up.

After one Saturday class, I gave Wall-E my keys to the gym so he could stop by before class one morning and swap out alla the light bulbs for us.

So, I handed them to him and then headed home. Turns out that I gave him my house keys and not the keys to the gym.

I called both him and Chad to apologize for the mix-up – after I managed to get back into my pad.

Me: Dude, I’m an idiot – I just swapped my house and gym keys yesterday and forgot I did that. I’m so, so, so sorry about that.
Him: Hey lucky enough I’m on the upper west side right now.
Me: WTF?
Him: In fact I think I’m in front of your apt.

 There are approximately 8,000 miles of streets in NYC – or enough to go from NYC to LA, back to LA, and back to NYC again. And outta all those streets, he was on the same street as my apartment.

In fact, he was literally across the street.

Me: Jesus Christ, what are the chances?!

I once told Alison that we were darned, not dammed. That turned out not to be true.

However, in this instance, it was. Because while I messed up the keys, he ended up across the street from me, but…

Me: Did you manage to change the lights?
Him: They didn’t fit.
Me: Dammit!

In another weird coincidence, at the end of the year, the kid had to pick one animal/insect/fish/something to study and I suggested the dragonfly.

Him: Why?
Me: They’re the greatest hunters on the planet.
Him: Cool!

And so, he picked that and wrote an entire report on it plus made the cool little sculpture you see above.

Well, we stepped outta our pad last week and right on the sidewalk of our street a huge – and I mean HUGE – dragonfly settled directly in front of the kid.

The last time I saw a dragonfly in NYC was also in front of my building, but way back in October of 2008.

That week, Alison called me her boyfriend for the first time and I was on cloud nine.

Haven’t been on cloud nine in ages. Or anyone’s boyfriend for that matter.

But, at least the kid doesn’t need much to be on cloud nine.

Him: IT’S A REAL DRAGONFLY!!
Me: (laughing) Yes, yes it is, kid.

Thought of a song that mentioned dragonflies and that got me going down a rabbit-hole of memories. Bad ones.

Plus, Mouse’s family is dealing with a litany of serious medical issues with her family – she wrote about it on IG so I don’t think I’m giving away any confidences away – which is also reminding me of things, for better or worse.

She’s a super tough chick and refuses any support, especially from me, but she’s helped me and the kid so much in the past that I’m trying to find a way to return the favour, somehow.

Her: It’s fine. I’m in admin mode.
Me: They’re lucky to have you.

Location: earlier tonight, around the way ordering the zero-sugar black raspberry cocktail while trying to look interested
Mood: complex and fulla zero-sugar black raspberry cocktails
Music: They had a pet dragonfly (Spotify)
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Still speaking Martian, Pt 2

Lovely imposter syndrome

It was Rain’s birthday recently, so if you see him, wish him a good one?

Years ago, he told me about this comedy skit where there’s this guy that has a speech impediment where he can only speak in a sarcastic voice, which makes his life totally miserable and lonely.

Rain told me about it and then I told you about it.

Finally found it, if you’re interested.

It’s not like I didn’t want to have friends.

I just talked like a weird 49-year-old Chinese-American man with a Queens accent…when I was 13. That was my speech impediment.

Met a pretty girl once in 7th Grade. Told her she looked lovely. And she and her friends called me a weirdo and worse.

As an aside, I say lovely all the goddamn time now.

In junior high, the closest I had to friends were a girl named Julia and a guy named Phil. I’ll tell you about them someday but, not for a while because I wasn’t exactly kind to them.

And the reason was because I started making friends here and there.

I did this by reading books like How to Win Friends and Influence People and Think and Grow Rich.

Books are really amazing things. But I digress.

By the time I got to high school, I (kinda) started figuring out how to talk like everyone else. I always had a Queens accent but used words like lovely and idiosyncratic all the time – studying for the SATs didn’t help matters.

In many ways, I always felt the weight of imposter syndrome – as if someone people would figure out that I was super mechanical at being social.

Step 1: Introduce yourself by looking someone in the eye.
Step 2: Shake their hand.
Step 3: Repeat their name.
Step 4: Smile.

And so on.

Yet, for the most part, people didn’t figure out that I was a ghost in a machine, pretending to be human.

The girl I called “lovely” was named Stella.

She wrote in my junior high school yearbook that I shoulda asked her to the JHS prom. She went with a guy named Edwin instead. It was junior high school where I slimed down and started dressing better.

It was also then I learned that if you look good, people will talk to you, even if you talk like a weird 49-year-old Chinese-American man with a thick Queens accent.

Hence my being unkind to Julia and Phil. That is one of the earliest of my 10,000 regrets.

A much smaller regret was that, for years afterward, I wished that (a) I didn’t tell Stella she was “lovely,” and (b) I asked her out to the JHS prom.

Didn’t realize that I was speaking Martian while everyone else was speaking English.

I wanted desperately to be understood, like that guy in the video above, but I didn’t know how.

I’m bringing alla this up because the two arguments I had recently have been on my mind.

Both were with people that mattered to me in some way and in both, I couldn’t make myself understood. And I suppose the same was true in reverse.

35 years after Stella, they were speaking English and I was speaking Martian. Or vice versa.

One ended with me being told to leave in the rain, the other, being told to get out at a desolate intersection after midnight.

Everything I said was construed in the worst possible way and there was no way I could make myself understood.

I always say that we’re the prisoners of our 14-year-old selves. In both arguments, I felt like I was telling Stella she was lovely and all she heard was that I was weird.

Every so often, we feel the weight of the chains we forge for ourselves as kids.

I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. 

This is where I sat, waiting for the library to open.

In the end, the question really is, how much do we want to be understood and how much do we want to understand someone else.

These days, for me, most people aren’t worth the effort. I’d rather just be with my (e)books again.

But some people are worth the effort, even if you realize it too late.

Spoke to one of the women that helped me survive 2017 recently.

It wasn’t – at all – what you would call a “good” talk.

But she also didn’t tell me to go fuck myself, so I suppose that’s a net positive.

Location: West 79th Street, giving the boy a hug and telling him I’d see him soon
Mood: mute
Music: you do not need to speak (Spotify)
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Still speaking Martian, Pt 1

With a Queens accent

Him: I don’t wanna go to camp!
Me: I wish I had camp as a kid! (annoyed) For goodness sakes, why not?!
Him: (sadly) I don’t want to be away from you, Papa!

Well, I’m a jerk.

Just got back from a 12-hour Scenic Fights shoot. Pac, Chad, and the resta the crew are still there shooting.

I suppose that I’ll tell you more about the shoot some other time but Pac was there along with the producer, who – like Pac and me – grew up in Queens.

Pac: (insert very questionable language here)
Me: It’s funny. I spent years trying to hide my Queens accent and speech patterns and you highlight it.
Him: Why would you do that?
Me: (shrugging) Long story. You know, I stopped cursing when I was 18 and started up again just a few years ago?

Told you once that I read the entire side of a library once. But never told you why.

What were your summers like as a kid? Camp? Parties? Just hanging out with friends in a basement?

Mine were nuthin like that at all.

Like I said, I grew up poor. Really poor. Air conditioning was essentially non-existent.

But the local library had air conditioning and both my parents worked full time.

So, every summer from third to roughly seventh grade was about the same: I would wake up, eat, and walk to the library – either by myself or with my mom – and sit at the entrance of the library and wait for it to open.

Here’s what it looks like, same as it did when I was nine years old.

I knew the librarian there so well. She wore a red sweater no matter what the temperature was outside because, man, that AC inside was kicking.

I was always the only kid sitting outside, waiting for the library to open, unless my brother or sister were with me. Then I/we would go in and read.

I read until they kicked me out. They literally kicked me out every night. Although I did head home in the middle of the day for lunch.

This lady named Susan Wiggs once said that, “You’re never alone when you’re reading a book.” And that makes sense to me because those books were my friends.

I read entire series of books – every single one of the Little House books, all the Narnia ones (The Horse and His Boy was always my fave – The Silver Chair sucked.), all the Great Brain books, all the Sherlock Holmes books, all the Tom Brown books, the entirety of the World Book Encyclopedia – for serious – all of Bullfinch’s Mythology, etc.

By the time I was 15, I was reading 750 words a minute. I still read about 650-750 words a minute.

I read the entire fucking wall. It took me four summers. But I read that whole goddamn wall.

These were my friends. My only friends, for most of my childhood.

It doesn’t make one well socialized. At least, not for a long while.

Ultimately, though, you either change, the world changes, or a little bit of both.

Him: Cursing is fucking great.
Me: (nodding) It’s fucking great.

I told the Counselor about my summers not that long ago. She found it both sad and endearing, which was really sweet of her.

There’s a point to alla this, though.

But it’s super late and my brain’s feels heavy, so I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow.

EDIT: Day after tomorrow. Got injured at the gym being dumb. Again.

Location: 8:42PM, just catching the train before having to wait 12 minutes for the next one, on 14th Street
Mood: nostalgic
Music: Every day’s another day to have the best day with you (Spotify)
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Movie Premier Pt 2: Jang Hyuk’s The Killer

Assassins next door

Because I knew that I was going to the film’s East Coast premier, I’d not seen the film before, so I was looking forward to it.

The last time I was in a movie theatre seems like a lifetime ago. I think it was Battle Angel Alita or Avengers: Endgame, both in 2019.

The Killer was part of the 20th Anniversary New York Asian Film Festival, that ran from July 15-31, 2022.

I vaguely remember going to another such festival years ago.

Anywho, like I said in my last entry, I sat next to the owner of Midnight Pulp, where we chatted about life and our families.

That’s all I’ll say there. Nice fella.

The movie itself was quite cool, although I do wonder how many more of the assassin-next-door types of films are possible.

This was an interesting take on the genre because it revolved around the idea of family and protecting family.

That was what stuck with me, anywho.

Afterwards, there was a brief discussion of the film and some question-and-answer.

It was pretty packed and I was beat – and pretty lit – so I just wanted to head back.

Midway off the block, though, Joong hit me up.

Him: Hi Logan, still around? We can get a photo for you with Jang Hyuk.

So, I high-tailed it back where I met up with him and the StruggleNation peeps again.

I chatted with Jang Hyuk for a bit, by way of Joong. Very cool and down to earth guy, actually.

We, briefly, discussed martial arts and violence in general. Surprisingly, his background was JKD and not kali, per se.

Chatted with a few more people before I made it out the door and took a long walk home.

I’ve been super social lately and it’s been tiring and, oddly, very sad.

But I suppose that’s another discussion for another time.

Location: yesterday, searching for a lottery place with the kid and getting caught in the rain.
Mood: sad
Music: I get carried away, carried away, from you (Spotify)
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Movie Premier Pt 1: Jang Hyuk’s The Killer

No dental

The East Coast premier of Jang Hyuk’s latest flick, The Killer: A Girl Who Deserves to Die, was in my neighborhood, just a block from my old law school.

Him: Can you make it?
Me: It’s technically walking distance from me so how could I not?

Since it was at Lincoln Center, I was thinking of inviting French Dancer or Acrobat – who are both super artsy – but I decided against it.

The last time I invited someone to a special event, it left such a bad taste in my mouth that I pretty much solo these types of things.

Shame, though. It was definitely a cool event.

Started off with a top-shelf open bar at Lincoln Ristorante.

Me: Can I get the Pyrat aged rum in a low-ball with a thick slice of orange.
Bartender: Of course!

Sweeeeeeet – it’s rare that a bar carries one of my preferred aged rums. So, the night was off to a good start.

The fella coordinating the night’s event was a guy named Joong;

Me: Oh, thanks for inviting us.
Him: No problem – actually, I’ve been a fan of Scenic Fights since you guys first came out.
Me: Get outta town!

I actually met a ton of people that said they’d seen our work. Who knows if that’s true but hope springs eternal.

He ended up introducing me to the fellas that run StruggleNation, who were also fans.

Him: Wait, you’re Logan from Scenic Fights?
Me: (laughing) Yeah. I look different when I’m wearing my lawyer clothes.
Him: You’re a lawyer?!
Me: That’s what the piece of paper on my wall says. But, to be fair, I printed it myself on a inkjet printer.

I was also introduced to the film’s distributor, his wife, and the CEO of Midnight Pulp, who ended up sitting next to me at the movie itself.

Oddly, we spent most the time talking about our kids and family.

Me: How do I know if I’m doing a good job?
Her: The fact that you question if you’re doing a good job at all, probably means you’re doing better than most.

Although it did veer off into unexpected territory.

Another Woman: I actually see you being someone like that. You could be an assassin, and no one would know.
Me: Sure, but you gotta figure there’s no dental and the hours are probably awful.
Her: (laughs) Benefits are important.
Me: Don’t I know it, lady.

After a spell, we all made our way to the theater to catch the film. Joong and his girlfriend had seen it before. Multiple times.

Her: This is actually the fourth time we’re seeing it.
Me: No kidding?
Him: Yup. Part of the job. But you’ll like it.

And he was right.

I’ll tell you about the rest tomorrow or something. I’ve been stuck in the basement of my brain for a bit.

Here’s some of the film with the Scenic Fights fellas and me.

Location: surrounded by papers, wondering where to start
Mood: remorseful
Music: Oh, don’t you put me on the back burner (Spotify)
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Always? No. Not always.

Fast as you can

Her: Have you always been such an asshole, Logan?
Me: Always? (thinking) No. Not always.

It’s been a busy – and rough – few weeks. Trying to sort it all out.

Like always.

On a related point, I was in a car with another woman from my past the other night, well past midnight.

We weren’t so much talking as she was yelling at me, unabated.

Not that it wasn’t deserved. People have always been a mystery to me; when emotions are involved, all the more so.

And with this woman, that relationship ran every single emotion in the book. Neither one of us were angels but I’m definitely not proud of myself for a lot of it.

Her: Get out.

It was a long trip back.

Wrote her an email apologizing for how things went down with us but didn’t hear back from her, which I expected. I’m not sure I’d write me back either.

She teared up in the car and I wanted, desperately, to give her a hug. But, instead, I just sat back, afraid to make things even worse.

Which would be, admittedly, impressive because it was fuck-all already.

FWIW, I never intend to hurt anyone but it seems that’s what I’m best at. Like I said years ago, I’m the skillest with my sharp objects. The killest with my blunt instruments.

My weapons of choice are a sharp tongue and blunt words.

I’ve only gotten more skilled since then, what with all the trauma.

My last serious girlfriend before Alison called me a monster. Maybe Alison was an outlier, who never saw me as I really am.

Suppose I’m grateful for that.

Have you ever heard Fiona Apple’s Fast as You Can?

There’s a line that goes, Fast as you can, baby, scratch me out, free yourself. Fast as you can, baby. Run, free yourself of me.

That sounds like a good plan for her and everyone else. I’m great at glib relationships, shit at important ones.

Except with Alison, for reasons I’ll tell you all about one day. Maybe.

But she’s no longer here. So, what about the kid? He can’t scratch me outta his life and Alison’s not here to counter-balance my beast.

I’m not good with people in any meaningful, normal way. How can I make it so that the kid is?

In a Tree Grows in Brooklyn, the mother is terrified the kids will grow up like her alcoholic husband.

I’m terrified the boy will grow up just like me.

Location: a few days ago, the middle of nowhere Brooklyn at 2AM
Mood: resigned
Music: My pretty mouth will frame the phrases that will disprove your faith (Spotify)
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Roaring back

Quickly and completely

It’s been an incredibly busy few weeks. But that’s only part of why I’ve been quiet lately.

My son’s eczema got triggered somehow and it roared back in the worst possible way.

It’s tough being a caretaker. All you can do, sometimes, is just watch and feel helpless. It’s a special type of agony.

To see him is such discomfort was heartbreaking.

He went to see the doc for a last-minute appointment and the doc tried to reassure me that he would simply grow outta it, but that didn’t really help.

And some stuff I tried made things worse, in a manner of speaking.

See, someone told me once that the beach was good for eczema so I had to go to beach a number of times to see if it would help and it both made the situation better and worse, for various reasons.

Eventually, it went away again but I also brought him back out to NJ to stay for a few days, partly because he wanted to go but also because I was hoping that being away from the city would help too.

While he was in beach, he called an old caretaker of his who told him she would call right back but didn’t.

Him: Why didn’t she call back?
Me: I don’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong. People are busy sometimes.
Him: She doesn’t like me.
Me: That’s not true at all and you know it. People are complex and there are so many other things involved that you don’t know. (gently) I’m sorry, kiddo. Hey, do you want burgers for dinner?
Him: Burgers, yay!

I just asked him about it tonight, right before bed, and he said he didn’t remember it, which gave me some relief.

I told him again that she was probably busy and cared a lot about him, to which he laughed and said that he knew.

The thing about me, and I guess him, is our immense capacity to forget.

I envy him, a bit.

The power to forget so quickly and completely is a wonderous thing. Sometimes.

Blessed are the forgetful, after all…

And his eczema’s gone again, which is even better. It actually went away a few days before he left for NJ. That’s the thing about flareups, sometimes, you have zero idea what caused them in the first place.

Plus, he’s home. Which is the best.

Location: caught in the hot rain, hoping that it’ll all gonna be ok
Mood: relieved
Music: Sunshine, I don’t mind salt in my hair and the sand in my toes (Spotify)
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Life is Sweet

Until there isn’t

Had a pretty terrifying moment earlier this week. Was walking outta Union Square to the gym when this pretty huge white dude was yelling at this younger skinny guy.

But the white guy was so focused on the skinny guy, that he didn’t notice the hooded guy following him – and clearly holding a weapon of some sort in his right hand under his sweatshirt.

Note that it was 80+ degrees that day and he had a hoodie on and his hood pulled over his head.

The skinny guy ducked into a fire station and the firemen told the white guy to just go home. It was only then that the guy stalking him crossed the street, all while eying him.

I looked around for a cop to flag down but, of course, didn’t see any. So, I popped into the nearest store and waited a bit.

The city’s becoming like it was when I was a kid. This is not a good thing.

While the boy was away, I found that heart you see above on the table. He left if for me to find. Stood and stared at it longer than you might imagine.

That was an unexpectedly sweet find. But I was also cleaning out his class stuff – he brought everything home for summer vacation – and I came across his class folder. I’d never seen it before because it was in always his classroom.

He put pictures up on it of all the people he loved the most. In the middle was his mom and someone I didn’t expect him to put up.

I’m honestly not sure how he got these pictures, let alone print them out. That kid’s gonna be a handful when he grows up.

In any case, it made me sadder than you might expect. Because they were the mothers this kid never got to grow up with.

Suppose the closest I can explain is guilt.

Guilt that I can’t give him the family he wants. It might forever be just him and me.

He’s only six and he’s lost enough, I think. I’d rather never introduce him to another person than for him to wish for things that will never be.

Her: It’s not fair, Logan. You want someone to just give you kids. What about what we want?
Me: That’s the whole point. I don’t want someone to have a kid because I want her to do it, I someone to want a kid because she wants it too.
Her: You already have a kid!
Me: We all picture the family we want in our heads. This is not, at all, what I pictured for my family.

I suppose there’s always tomorrow. Until there isn’t.

Paris keeps calling me, which I find interesting.

Because I always thought it’d be Berlin.

Nothing is ever like I expect it to be.


There was a song I loved once, that has a line that goes, Life is sweet, despite the misery.

Dunno if that’s true anymore. I find the bitterness of misery cuts through everything.

Although, life does have its moments.

So, I’ll stay until he’s ready.

Me: I missed you so much, kid.
Him: Me too, papa. What’s for dinner?

Life is Sweet
by Natalie Merchant

It’s a pity
It’s a crying shame
Who pulled you down again?
How painful it must be
To bruise so easily inside
It’s a pity
It’s a downright crime
But it happens all the time
You wanna stay little daddy’s girl
Wanna hide from the vicious world outside
But don’t cry
Know the tears’ll do no good
So, dry your eyes
Your daddy he’s the iron man
A battleship wrecked on dry land
Your mama she’s a bitter bride
She’ll never be satisfied,
And you know
That’s not right
But don’t cry
Know the tears’ll do no good
So, dry your eyes
They told you life is hard
It’s misery from the start
It’s dull and slow and painful
I tell you life is sweet
In spite of the misery
There’s so much more
Be grateful
Who do you believe?
Who will you listen to
Who will it be?
It’s high time that you decide
In your own mind
Tried to comfort you
Tried to tell you to be patient
They are blind
They can’t see
Fortune gonna come some day
All gonna fade away
Your daddy the war machine and
Your mama the long and suffering
Prisoner of what she can not see
They told you life is hard
It’s misery from the start
It’s dull and slow and painful
I tell you life is sweet
In spite of the misery
There’s so much more
Be grateful
Who do you believe?
Who will you listen to
Who will it be?
It’s high time you decide
It’s time you make up your own sweet little mind
They told you life is long
Be thankful when it’s done
Don’t ask for more
You should be grateful
But I tell you life is short
Be thankful because before you know
It will be over
‘Cause life is sweet
And life is also very short
Your life is sweet

Location: earlier tonight, on 18th Street, telling him not to cry
Mood: empty
Music: life is short. Be thankful because, before you know, it will be over (Spotify)
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