Sunday, November 30, 2008

Sepia Saturday



Sunny days return when you leave the grayness of a repetitive weather cycle behind. I found bright stars above my head while pissing over iron ore deposits. The next morning, I took a sip out of the cold stream while i let the sun clear the inebriation from my mind. I returned home where the haste once needs while meandering around lost transients was restored to my feet. Trudging on the concrete of a city while smoking a cigarette builds character if you have the right footwear.

In the plastic glass (blasphemy) of an overpriced beer, I glimpsed the grayness of former days. I cringed at the sight of a LIRR schedule of the Babylon line. Once UB40 segued into Madonna, I split the scene after having facile dating advise shouted me. In order of occurrence: soliciting of 2 cigarettes; urinating inside the 33rd St. station; arrival at an old haunt; meeting a former lesbian/coke fiend; drinks; fellatio; more drinks; e t c

I'd be lying if I said I always enjoy the sunlight, but I cannot stand the static social settings some people linger in. It's akin to living day after day of commuting to work while the gray sky above pisses wet snow on you while trying to pedal your adult tricycle through slushy puddle after slushy puddle. I try to embrace the impermanence of the world, and the grayness of some people's lifestyle makes me nauseous.

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Tuesday, November 25, 2008

anal-eyes in the storm



I have found many stories to tell, with many plot twists and intricacies of characters/players and controversial themes of microbial debauchery. In other words, I've been making progress.

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Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Winter arrives early

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Hungover on the westside piers



Ten years ago, on this day, I puked my guts up for the first time do to excessive alcohol consumption.

Not really, but man, I need to get to another beerfest.

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Monday, November 03, 2008

3-XI-08 (Birthday month)

It's been a slow existence since the beginning of August. My travels down south to Maryland having ceased, I've fallen into the repetitious motions of two kinds of work; financially supporting myself and the road towards a masters degree. As I trudge into the fourth month of this regimented schedule the manifestation of depression around me seems to have become accentuated. I've been focused on the growing worries and concerns of others, as a climate of anxiety continues to build around me.
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The dreams that define who I am have grown into old beakers, vessels for suppressed memories. Gone are the cinematic dreams of subterranean space wars, the banishment to the realm of garbage or devil dolls incinerating churches. I am in prison with a former lover, and she tells me that an inmate will rape me before the day's end. I am an observer of a deathmatch involving old friends I never talk to. Finally, I am on a trail in a vaguely familiar forest, and I am being led by an old elementary school teacher to a place where I'll be made a eunuch.
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As I grind rock down to the width of a hair, I am beginning to perceive that most advice is flawed. I say this after spending over a month's time, intermittently, in a lab that should be neutron bombed in order to disintegrate all the inhabiting Cold War ghosts haunting the lab's residing pack-rat. He surrounds himself with half-finished projects and obsolete machinery. Yes, I choose to ignore that corner of the building.

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