Scott

I do things, then I feel stupid.
Cake.
I choose not to do other things and also feel stupid.
Vegetables.

I say things and then think, "Why did you say that?"
Girls.
I keep my mouth shut and think, "Why didn't you say something?"
Girls.

My brain must hate me.
But I'll show him.
I won't use him anymore.

Gibby Haynes drank beer, swallowed drugs and put them in his nose and then sang songs.
It worked really well.

So did Scott Weiland. It sucked.
Scott has tried it without the beer and drugs too.
More sucking.

But Scott gets lots of girls.
He probably gets to second base with them in like twenty seconds.
Second base means he feels the most pointy part of their chest with his bare hand, while simultaneously kissing them (optional).

Maybe if Scott spent less time feeling chest and more time writing and finding out who he really is, the sucking would stop.
Or maybe Scott Weiland's true calling is sucking.
If so, he is doing a good job.
Sucking.

Decaf

You've never had a real job?
I worked at a coffee shop in SoHo and rich people yelled at me.

Why don't you smile more?
My face doesn't work that way.

Why don't you want kids?
They are so loud in the morning.
And they freak out if you don't smile a lot.

Don't you get lonely on the road?
Yes.
Meet me in St. Louis and see for yourself.

You don't get nervous anymore?
No. Just lonely and horny.
Meet me in Virginia Beach and I will prove it to you.

What makes you happy?
Coffee and attractive women with no kids who could care less that I don't smile a lot.

What makes you sad?
Decaf coffee and attractive women with kids who hate it that I don't smile a lot.
And people at bus stops.

Are you satisfied with what you wrote?
No.

Hotel Room

Hotel room.
It's almost five p.m.

I ate a sandwich.
I went to the drug store.
I bought a coffee.
I wrote.

Nothing good.
I sit.
Turn the television on and off and on, the computer too.

My attention flickers.
My stomach churns.
The circles under my eyes widen.

What a fucking waste of time.
I should've studied more, or at all.
I should've drank less, or a lot more.

I'm reading a book that got good reviews from people I like.
Early Bird by Rodney Rothman.
But it's very average.

I shouldn't criticize.
It's hard to write anything.
See above.

I took two pills that a doctor gave me to make me feel better.
Pills.
I'm going to need more than that.

A new head.
Better ideas.

Don't look at lighted screens anymore.
There is something behind the lights.
I think there is something behind the lights.