Reading the past

I hate reading blogs from the past, even though I secretly love it the wistful teary eyed kindergarten baby that comes  out in me...what if this and what if that blah blah blah, but life moves on and the stupid choices were made and there aint no turning back. How many times have I thought about marriage? Seriously if I was married right now id be dead in a  gutter or in jail for domestic assault, I'm so bad with women because I am attracted to so many. How can I realize when I have someone good in my life when the primal monkey in me shows another banana tree? I am glad I have a daughter whom I am no longer involved with the mother because now I feel that forever freedom like if I don't get married or cheat on every girl I meet from here on out, breaking innocent hearts squandering dreams  I will always have my beautiful baby girl to fall back on, and eat ice cream with, and buy zantac at midnight for. Which is terrible but true, so without her I would reconsider the others I'm hurting but I'm so effed in the head that I probably will never change, today marks the would be 27th birthday of my friend mick rylander who died in a horrific car accident eleven years ago, I'm feeling bitter/better/saddened and reading s's blogs and remembering the time she made me walk home from that ann arbor brewery after finally confronting the cheating situation of the previous year and how on my walk home I decided I only wanted to write raps about how much I hated myself for hurting her and how I wanted to marry her or kill myself or overdose or do something selfishly to mask my own embarassment for ruining something great, but I also remember when she quit heroin, got pregnant and married and had a beautiful baby girl with a man that I think is ten times the person I am and a million times the person that punk motherfucker lyman was, and I'm happy that fate worked out well, I have my own demons to face and the fact that she still talks to me is a blessing from allah, peace be upon him. Idk where I'm going on this one just a rambling man with a bukowski libido, miss u mick