Matthew Newton

The Misery of Time, by Matthew L Newton

Just when I think that things here are getting better they get worse. When I think that things could not get any worse something happens that makes them okay again. On and on the day changes, rearranges, transforms into soemthing so unlike the thing I that know. There are never here what could be called, normal behaviors, lifesyles or methods of thinking. Yet are there ever anywhere?

Today I was offered a choice, quit the one thing, the only thing in my life that has ever brought me any real joy (outside of the joy I felt of the possibility of having a daughter) or quit my job. On one hand, I am afforded a paycheck, which in turn provides me with the necessary lifestyle I choose to inhabit here in this place. The other, music, life itself, the only reason for anything and the soul reason I am alive after everything that has happened in the last few years.

How do I make that choice? How am I suppossed to reconcile any decision that goes against any number of the armies opinions? Which “I” will win this arguement? How am I to choose?

Though I am angry, volitile and have already lashed out at those few around me, spilling the hate I feel for them whom have forced me to make such a trade, I am also afraid, not of those around me but of the choice itself. I have never truely lived without music, yet I’ve continued to live without a job.

But now, I am out of time. Time to write. Time to plee. Time to begin or time to flee.
I will simply be that sullen creature, sipping death from the rotted nipples of lifes bitter bitch face. I can only suffer, until I can suffer no longer. For this, I am afraid. For this, I am left without a substance. No form, just wasted breathes within a body no longer willing to function.

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868

Categories: Matthew Newton, music

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