Saturday.
Meeting people and making connections, like fuses and sockets, plugs into electronic outlets, the power of personal decision making and proud parents. Snow fall around a healthy girl, good style of life, tan might be necessary, inside too much soaking up those biology notes when the sun, the natural vitamins are right there, 21st schizoid man. Letting hair down and watching the reactions to drug addled dancing. Flash mob where suddenly everyone acts black out drunk at a bar. At like 7. Joke on bartender friend. ‘God you guys were annoying.’ Good-natured. Not one too handsome to know what’s right or wrong. Rotting teeth out with coffee and smokes. The conversations worked out well. Laughing and cleverly talking about things. Smart musicians, guitars that sound like lasers. Pointing towards far points. Depth of field. Seeing into the future. A laser pointer sees in the future. The laser scope on a rifle predicts the future of the person in frame. The immediate and intermediate future. Paths cross and uncross in such quick succession that one has to question how it is possible for both lives to mean something to the other.
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drowning out highs with underwater speakers and laughing hysteric at bad jokes with a good friend at expense of gullible stranger, we fall on the floor and remove our souls besides ourselves, the slight accents, nearly fall asleep at the wheel (the rolling and acrobatic cycle of the stages of grief) Of loss and removal, with intermissions of bliss and contentment. Back to the rampant alcohol dullness. that makes my mornings weak and un-monumental. Coffee necessary. Water evident. Breath bad. Gritting teeth to play certain guitar parts just now. But everyone is a great musician if they can manage the rhythm, even a complicated one, and sing and sing and sing. While keeping up the fingers.
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drowning out highs with underwater speakers and laughing hysteric at bad jokes with a good friend at expense of gullible stranger, we fall on the floor and remove our souls besides ourselves, the slight accents, nearly fall asleep at the wheel (the rolling and acrobatic cycle of the stages of grief) Of loss and removal, with intermissions of bliss and contentment. Back to the rampant alcohol dullness. that makes my mornings weak and un-monumental. Coffee necessary. Water evident. Breath bad. Gritting teeth to play certain guitar parts just now. But everyone is a great musician if they can manage the rhythm, even a complicated one, and sing and sing and sing. While keeping up the fingers.
