I laughed and lapsed through a weekend and the edges right before and after. Skirting these edges I filled my eyes with sights and sounds I wished to see for the sake of sanity. Sanity. Horror-scopes and premonitions. Cold shoulders and cigarettes blackening the lining of our throats. We can still yell. Just less loud. Attack each other in a bed room and turn a smile into a sad contemplation after we realize what is all at stake. Our sanity. Our balanced levels when near each other. Proximity to heat keeps you warm or bury yourself in layers. Repressing dreams with the desires of another type of person. We looked at gold watches and drank to get drunk. Pouring liquid cocaine in the cups of enemies. Watching them fuck and fight through binoculars later. Once they return to the limestone cave system from which they were reborn. (Talk to you. Talk with you.) There was a sad glimmer in her eyes when I left an appropriate sized tip, at risk of my life perhaps, ripped with a fake italian accent. Talking it up because everyone puts white powder in their nostrils and rubs their gums. With a diet like that, black outs are a consequence. Wake up with no realization of activity. A strange city and a familiar but impossible face. Never mind. Mirage. One of the sluts. One of the dudes she leaves in the morning without waking them purposefully. (Ice-sweep picking.) Three warm nights. A natural connection. Focus on the positive. The business end. Feel undeserving of all the praise and grades. Raise me up higher, god. My god. My god.
(I will not go to my grave yearning for what could have been)
What moves you makes me dizzy.
Hands are tied to bedposts
avid dreamer, making the most
natural elements in unnatural cities,
green oxygen and litter bugs,
infestation of such parasites.
Abuse of mainline drugs.
Crazed look in the eyes.
(She seemed nice but she seemed fake)
The funny one is projecting wit to cover a terror, a sadness. A grief-stricken stretch of the imagination in dark corners of dark streets where my body was found between unwelcoming trees. Swallowing silence like sleeping pills, made a bed that made me so nervous to begin with. My psychology comes from a spoiled childhood. All of the best, absolutely. They did all they could for me to give it to me straight and honest. I am grateful, though I often make guilty faces, repelling women, when I do something, anything. When I do things I am nocturnal-hearted. Bipolar-ity. in the city. Our magnetism. (Where is this going with the forks?) A childish thing to do. To explain. Our intermittent conspiring. We plan for back rooms and beds made of broken glass and glow in the dark stars. Hookahs with fiery coals, a drum set. Playing entirely too loud. A solid sense of rhythm. (barely had sex). Molested the two nights we went out. Lends herself out. Self-deprecating behavior. (A mirror? How could I be so much better? Perhaps it's not women. It's my liver. My lungs. My brain.) I contradict my intentions of sobriety with one drink two drink three drink four. Conspire to drink myself dry. No no. Negativity here. Hates my cynicism.
Diverse reading. Snow, sleet, marijuana, rain, blankets, chattering teeth, stomach aches. My nerves feel shot. Perhaps the excitement, through the nervous system, is causing connections to time out in my head. Leaving me empty like a dry well. Thaoist thought in the corner of the airport terminal. Gate N8. Nate. Perfect.
"Good stuff right there."
Line is growing. People moving. Hustling. I am ready for the new life. Something unknown, beautiful. Insane. A concert. A best friend. A Lip ring. God am I excited for such life. Such great life. Meet the members tonight. (Bathroom now. PLane waiting. I'll let you know how it goes.)
