Websterware

I don't know a ton about cars and I know that dealers and even online tools aren't likely to give me an accurate appraisal, so I was hoping to get advice from people here about how much I should be trying to get for my 1990 Storm Gsi. Any advice from y'all and/or some feedback on selling it to someone who is specifically interested in Geos would be helpful. Thanks.

First of all it runs great, I just need something newer and can't store this car anywhere, otherwise I'd keep it. It has 225,000 miles, no accidents, clean title, and I'm the second owner.

Pros:

-New 5-year battery installed in March

-New starter

-New 40,000 mile tires

-Working AC

-Recent oil change and new filter

-T

​

I am sick

with myself

with all of the me-ness

making me up

​

It seems like

at any moment

all of the me-ness inside

should come puking out

​

Leaving just a little me

amid the tragedy

the rest of me

the bloated mess of me

pieces and puddles of the thing

​

Amid it and stuck to it

and surrounded by it

all this me which I have sicked up

all over myself

​

It’s me,

it’s no-one else

all around me

in every face I see a little me

and I am sick with myself.

​

[https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/q096y1/part_time/hf6xn4s/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/q096y1/part_time/hf6xn4s/?

Puke of the Soul

​

I am sick

with myself

with all of the me-ness

making me up

​

It seems like

at any moment

all of the me-ness inside

should come puking out

​

Leaving just a little me

amid the tragedy

the rest of me

the bloated mess of me

pieces and puddles of the thing

​

Amid it and stuck to it

and surrounded by it

all this me which I have sicked up

all over myself

​

It’s me,

it’s no-one else

all around me

in every face I see a little me

and I am sick with myself.

But Now

    , but now that we’re famous, things have changed. The band isn’t that way anymore. We have higher objects to direct us. Higher claims and stakes. Of course, we haven’t forgotten our roots, no by no means have we done that. But our direction has changed. 

    You see, the thing is that, when you’re jamming in the garage, or playing a house show, or playing a burrito stand, your delusions are different. Now that we’re here, yknow, our delusions are totally different. I don’t know if it’s something a lot of people can readily understand. And it’s not something any of us can control, yknow, like when you play a sold out show, and everyone’s in there bumping and jumping their hearts

Chain Smoker

The porch step is a sacred place where I can go to exhale my woes, to listen to the songs that put me in the mood, not bother over fears, or spells unwinding in the news.

I can perch on the river rock concrete, my knees in the rain, clamp in my teeth the filter of a vice, not bothered by the things we always say, like wouldn’t it be nice if-

I guess it’s meditation that I seek in solitude, my fingers like a vise around the gently giving cellulose my hours drip away in clenching, remiss, chained to my moment of focus, though I can never seem to focus.

I just sit the porch and breathe it in and out and in and out, and out.

Moon Mirage

​

It’s not as bad with friends, or booze. With those, with a togethering effect via the inebriant, it makes for a good night.

I wonder about the mornings though. The bleary-eyed acknowledgements of one another. The going-to-work hustle. Shuffle of quiet breakfasts in a gray sky’s glimmer, our table always set with last night’s enterprise. There is a faint lilt of shame in the air, of a stagnancy of life lived mainly by moonlight, and same night every night, every night.

I retreat to my room at times, nonplussed. Something isn’t right. I wonder, maybe, if the alcohol makes me blurry. If my friends are blurry to me, us all to each other, or if myopia is the goal, so

FuNcTiOnAl

"Swallow the gun, take a shot, let it rot in your stomach, constantly stumbling… whether or not you remember it"

-Ex-Creations

I woke up this morning glad to greet the day, and horrified at how I felt. I swallowed a few innocuous pills and drove to work, too sick and too late for breakfast. My face felt bloated and dry, like a flag-proud declaration of a flagging man, but no-one seemed to notice. I wasn't sure I should even be operating a motor vehicle, everything crowding close in the most unsound way, but I wasn't drunk - I'd slept that off.

No matter how long I do this, no matter how well I strategize my night, it seems as if there is always a sting come morning. I could

All My Yesterdays

And when your next sorrow comes, you’ll wish for yesterday’s. That which once crept inside you, growing with time, entrenching; which made you mad with wanting to escape, turned inescapable, and which eventually through tooth and nail you grew accustomed to. Until, new normal newly balanced, your mind grew once more capable of brandishing new pain.

You will long for the ache of broken bones, of love lost, of aimlessness and pointlessness and all that you have suffered in the past. You will want to trade your new pain away.

You won’t be able to.

In time, however, this too shall give way to a greater ache, and you will retrogress to that initial state of longing for fam

Fugue

You slip into this strange vortex of time as fluid, of motion without reference, uneasy circles of motions of actions repeated over and over as if it’s the first time, every time, except of course you know it isn’t the first - at some near-desperate moments you convince yourself it could be - but on levels deeper inside you, led by wisps with which you rarely openly confer, you know this to be false, you know that you've misled yourself, and are continuing to as if to shield your consciousness from the morbid truth of your entrapment in the maze and the stifling, shoulder-tapping horror of so many walls all looking like the same wall, each day and day - the question on the tip of your