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Under the Influence

We just got the new VAPURs, and I’m tempted to try the flavors,
if only to satisfy a fixation without nicotine or rolling papers,
or any of the secondhand associated with making bad choices,
like drinking root beer out of a glass bottle, even when it makes my mom scowl.
I think I’ve always wanted to do things that for me were visibly frowned upon as
blasphemous, or unbecoming of a Singh, even though, despite what was engraved,
it’s always just been more of a last name. That last bit kind of proves their whole point,
now doesn’t it? What have I been up to since falling off the social grid?
Not much, it’s all here before you and your friends to read, except things
that were sent electronically to Zoetrope, or submitted to ATVF via portfolio,
which was kind of weird, because I’ve never had a stranger read my scripts before.
Other things I haven’t done in a while? I taped up my glasses for the first time since sixth grade.
I read an old Medium newspaper I found under my bed, with scribbled handwriting of sketches that we never did.
This was in early two thousand and eleven before I ever wrote on a napkin,
but I think the acronym remained the same, with a few changed words in between.
I’m currently listening to Waiting Game off of BANKS’ Goddess.
The whole album’s solid, but that’s my driving-in-the-dark-to-work track,
as well as my I-can’t-fall-asleep-unless-I-hear-that-bass-line-drop-back.
It’s kind of cool to know that we were born just a year apart, with your star
rising on the opposite coast, while we both touched down with a broken heart,
and found solace at our fingertips, playing the keyboard and being lyricists,
only you can actually sing, and my music only consists of one minute interludes.
I’ve come to cherish sleep, with every night feeling like I’m Ripley from Alien³,
falling into the inferno, of which there seems to be no escape, with no recollect
of any strife that haunted me while awake. In those closing seconds when the
clock’s glare meets my lone stare, I often wonder where I’ll be, in give or take
three to five years, and if you’ll still be besides me. That you could mean
anything [f]or anyone—from this site, to my friends, to my career goals and
wishes—all lost under the influence of trying to make nothing into something.

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