An ulcerous moment (a moral blemish or corrupting influence). Here once again, in the present, collecting my thoughts. I spilled them out on the ground, uneven, and they scatter away like marbles. Now I gather them all in my arms affectionately. I am a vessel for them. They will sink with me.
Indigo blues and red wines. Very fortunate to be alive. Draining account of tasteless belligerence on behalf of all consumed quantities of alcohol. Lips are sealed around a bottle. I swallowed the key and will refrain from any future negative phrases. There was no hate in my heart. I was possessed by something beyond me and inevitable. Just as the philosophical mind fuck begins to gnaw away at defenses, vodka soda rebuilds barriers. The flood could not erase every memory. Someone will remember the flood.
The viper room. Stage in the corner. Bright gracious lighting all around the bar and the posse possessed a corner table, a booth to survey the situation and to find a purpose behind all of the whispering. A business man produces uninteresting advice and is ask a barrage of potentially insulting remarks. He sat on the stage for 20 minutes too long and everything became pushed back thanks to it. A man with a cane dragged him off. Like in the cartoons. Whiskey and cokes purchased for me. Dangerous to drink too much prior to stage set. "You looked possessed tonight." (I was.) given the birthday shout out on stage. Talked down at people from that stage. Rather tall. Just then. Unplugged my overdrive pedal accidentally. Killed the bass a few times. Light dimming and dying. There would not have been room for an eccentric and elongated pedal board. Handbuilt and with LED lights all around the center. Plexiglass cover and a dream of ideas regarding all of it. Have the time. Break into a high school and use their wood shop classroom. Building things. Becoming good with your hands and tools. A certain shape of training that no man should ever be able to exist alone in a crisis situation without.
Man hands me a beer on stage. Great guy. Also plugged in my pedal when I was too far involved in the music to notice it missing. You are supposed to ignore big mistakes when on stage anyway. Never look at the person who fucked up. Just smile and continue as they burn your youthful energy to pollute the air with grander smokestacks. Drummer breaks the head off of the double pedal and feels bad-guilty for it, though I was laughing because I thought it was awesome and metal as fuck. Indicative that he rocked out too hard to be limited in any sense. The heaviest set we've ever played and handsomely at that.
Complimented eyelashes. I say they are extensions. Woman says that can't be true because hers are extensions. I walk away. Made fun a fellow for wearing a sweatsuit and he calls me out. But I can be reckless and everyone allows it. Receive a phone call after mingling with the lady drummer of the headlining band. She had dreads and stopped me from getting past her due to her enjoyment of our set. There is a shot of tequila waiting for me somewhere inside. Birthday shots. Double fisting. Duct tape me to the bathroom floor. Lights and static. A cigar from the humidor of a cigar shop. Small. Intense. Hardly viable. "Whichever is the least damaging." Long island ice tea at the rainbow and some incredible pizza. a rowdy crowd and we all fell under the spell of the same fitful buzz. no argument a wonderful day.
no argument a wonderful day.
then the last night after conversations regarding everything most disgusting in the world. all hilarious and loud. listen to metal through the television surround sound speakers. practice screams. crash helicopters. shoot the cops. mixed drinks all day. drink straight from the bottle after a familial argument. something blood born and beyond my immediate comprehension. I'll never pry.
I sat and drank, listening to loud music. My favorite tunes. For some reason then I walked home. Second night in a row having the drunken ambition to stumble down the streets. Guilty of criminal mischief. Stepping stones on someones lawn. I moved them all one by one about ten feet to the left. kicking mailboxes. changing the lid of the garbage can and recycling bins. chewing up chocolate candies and spitting them on driveways. appearance of shit. stealing fake plants and replacing them with real ones. attempting to lit a cigar with a burner. rearranging tasteful landscape architecture for my own purposes. absolutely no reason for these tiny acts of anarchy. lawlessness. the reason is precisely that. I love fucking with people. I want them to scratch their heads in confusion and go about their day in a state of heightened awareness to the small details. The smallest. I wish to move yard ornamentation from one lawn to the next. Or swap things. They will never understand and I am the wiser for it. I am the shaken up carbonated beverage. Stirring things around in utter dismay. There is a huge indifferent world out there though sometimes it seems to line up and make sense. These times are when I surprise myself. My reflection in the mirror grinning and triumphant. The random act of lunacy. It is a kindness to preach some sort of enlightenment to all of the others. "I warmed them up for you." I consider myself a sort of messenger.
Writing breakdowns with a deck of cards.
