I'm soo fevered this PM... got 3/4 a bottle of Pinot Noir in me and
there will be more, but must not let the sleepy get into the mix.
Nothing like dinner of McDonald's quarter pounder, fries and wine for
supper at 10:3Opm.
Listening to The Kills - its good open windows night
driving music. The teens were teeming around the McDonalds and I know
half of them will be fucking each other tonight and its almost enough
to make me go out of my mind.
X was talking about me being alone tonight, with her coworkers
(x is having a sleepover with my parents, and X's in
Greensboro NC on business, in a ritzy motel)- they asked what I'd do -
- she said she suspected the wine rack would be diminished and as long
as I took the porn out of the VCR before she got back I could knock
myself out. Have I mentioned how much I love my wife?
six kinds of glue, won't hold you - go steal ahead
I'm getting down with the young drunk lovers, I'm getting down with it.
I'm in Mercury Hermes territory - a busy mind impeded only by waves of
fermented goodness, making all the monsters look a little more blunt
and obvious - - boosting my love and passion for stuff and making me
feel like my hands could keep working until dawn to produce pictures
and words that I would barely recognize later on...
BTW - does it get any more fucking awesome that I can put out a short
call in a couple of places and have some friends nearby... I'm goddamn
Professor Xavier - TO ME, MY X-MEN!!!
I wouldn't know what I was saying if I wasn't me, or somebody within a
70% shared interest bracket or so... greek/roman gods of information,
creativity, messagers of the gods - that the Mercury Hermes thing... I
don't remember what else I said.
A blue whale's dick is 6 feet long, I could
comfortably sleep in a female blue whale's vagina sleeping bag - and
have thought about it at some length (no pun intended, honestly).
okay - the Noir is kicked.. and now I'm looking at the frightening
option of "Rebel Red" a raped monkey ass option my dad gave to us as a
gift from a winery near Gettysburg where they sell gimmick named wines
supposed to invoke 'the tears of Gettysburg' and other such shite that
tourists should be fucked in the ear over. Its red, though - and that
color matches my last glass, so maybe it won't hurt me... its either
that or some dessert wine that isn't even an option unless I have a 6
course french dinner with fish, which I'll have in - oh, say - 12
years from now... 18? when X and I can afford to eat like the DINKs
we were for a solid 8 years before spawning our gene beings to emerge
from her womb to conquer the next generation, sporting flags of our
family line - - luck, wit, creativity, neurotic disfunction, and a
paralyzing sense that you make a difference in the world while bound
like Houdini and sinking in icy waters.
Did I mention that I'm drinking - and that I do it less that 4 times a
fucking year?
Now I'm worried about this Rebel Red stuff - for one, its totally a southern
slave owner name - second, its like eating
marachino cherries sweet (and there is no way in your mom's vagina
that I'm going to spell that correctly under the best of
circumstances) and I wanted to sleep on the porch under the stars with
dog heat in my sleeping bag... the sweet is going to attract
mosquitoes now, I think (with the head that won't shut up, because I'm
not dedicated enough to be Buddist which is where I totally belong
according to Joseph Campbell, who comes to mind because LG is here) -
they will smell the sugar in my blood and I'll have fucking bites on
my eye lids and look like John Merrick by the time the sun comes up.
where's Txxxx and Cxxxx... drunk Ron wants to talk to them.
Txxxx - I've told you that you have the distinct honor of being a
vehicle for the dead spirit of my friend, Bxxx - right? This isn't in
'real world' - it's in Ron's Ego head world... same thing to me, but
not everyone else.
Bxxx Bxxxxx. World worn magical wit of a woman - - spirit of a 7 year
old in the body of a 50-something - - she died from complications of
being a functional alcoholic for many year... so functional that NONE
of us knew it, not her best friends - - she couldn't get needed organ
transplants (liver, and something else?) due to her age (statistical
projection of the effectiveness of transplant) and continuing habit
(drink) that nobody even fucking knew about. She died without saying
goodbye - because she didn't want us all to learn about her addiction
on her death bed... she was shamed into silence, so she died alone
(with the significant exception of her husband and daughter). The
anniversary is about a week away... I'm soooo prone to memory based on
the seasons and calendar. She was the first person I called, outside
of family, when x was born. It really sucks.
So - Txxxx - you got your work cut out for you (just kidding in a
weird dark way that won't make conscious sense to me in a day or so).
I should absolutely get drunk with a cassette recorder on a regular
basis ( I mentioned gestalt therapy somewhere on the forums recently,
that's what I'm doing, my version at least... no - wait - I had posted
it, to Axxxxx's thread, then I deleted it, because most everyone on
the thread were idiots) - shitting this crap from my pores is such
fucking absolution for me, cause I'm really truly honestly good enough
a guy that I don't have a shit-load to account for, but the little I
do have makes me crazy. And when I say crazy - I mean crazy. Crazy is
NOT funny or romantic.
Rrrrrrr
abandoned while the flag is at full mast and the tank is full... will
move on to, what? more music.. can I slow down enough to read? not
bloody likely. possibly another FA bookmark, but it's too soon for
that.. got a good picture of our friend's kid at his birthday party
that I could make a kick ass portrait from - but its sooo nice and I
don't want nice at the moment. Need a way-back machine and access to
my school buddies and the international nanny school down the street
from the art school - lots of mixers between nannies with
fuck-to-the-moon accents and scraggly thin starving artists with the
light of the future in their souls waiting to be placed on paper with
graphite then ink then scanned and computer colored to languish on a
disk until some escaped into the public at large.
Slow dancing to fast music in a rented home - luau music on a snowy
January Thursday night with an overweight english girl as the
snowflakes go out of focus to become starshine circles under street
lights... move your cars, girls, they tow first and ask questions
later here in Dover, NJ.
At this point I am exactly the hairy mid-sized goblin pacing the
floorboards while everyone else engages in 15+ other real-worlds,
alone in an eddy in time - an unlikely tidal pool that forms when the
ocean moves in a way that it doesn't do under any moon but a blue one.
A mind that is scattered in the best of times is spread thin across
the cosmos trying to at least meet up in the milky way so there is
some kind of order but, the far spread stars are willow-the-wisps to
the fragmented me, each the best and the obvious choice - each far
from the other and in a world of its own.
so - how is this better, exactly? usually you just have sugar and
coffee - spunk and paranoia, tonight you have those plus the free
associated glut of archetypes as varied as the first 100 Hindu gods
that come to mind, while the others resent the neglect and sharpen
their teeth...
The pathetic moron calling for a long dead poodle (that he never
had) in the drunk tank, while the night shift play solitaire on their
screens, pausing only to write the highlights that may amuse their
wives, on post-it notes that are supposed to be for office use only.
No comments:
Post a Comment