“Wining About Something – What WAS”
Barrel 27 Rock and a Hard Place 2007 Grenache, another
flavor to be nano-stored in the G-protein taste-bud memory bank. What the world needs now is ‘light brown
spice,’ and in the wisdom of a chef, in a world where sugar is both the cure
and the glaze, is there a place for ginger?
Sip. Savor. Slither. Having a
transcendent head-out-of-stomach experience, devastated emotions ferment beneath
the confident surface of an austere air.
Reminders precede memory loss. I
prepare my mind like an old computer hard drive that needed to free space by
getting rid of rubbish of the mind/body/soul.
Nowadays, what with processor speed, RAM, and HDDs the way they are, why
delete? By then my Monday was
undone. I was unhinged, by God,
unhinged! Long looks upon blank walls, I
started to draw in pencil something I knew must be erased some day in the
future and wouldn’t be worth taking a picture of if I had a camera. Inspiration was something that came from the
word interstitial. I was reading Moby
Dick for the first time, knowing how it would end, and not wanting it to… Something
about seafaring seemed…not more romantic, but more robust than waiting tables for
a year in a random place where I knew one person well enough to call it
home. Bourne upon ancient saltwater
currents, breathing hour spans, wresting writing from walls if not
superimposing. I must have made a good
impression, this one that got away calls me back five years later, she wants to
drive all the way from Alexandria to Buffalo to make out. Should I encourage what seems like insanity
to come to me?
“Sloppy Second Joe”
Fast-food pick-up artistry, I set the standards for
low-grade loving, poorest quality acceptable for public consumption, entirely a
gluttonous mash, musty mouthful. A bottle of life in one hand and a bottle of
life-altering substances in the other.
Spun like a child for fruity loops swimming in box Jesus juice. My biggest regrets involve leaving something
unattended, unfinished, or unseen. It’s
crazy though, I try to be omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient, a god-headed
ideal. Informed sources reliably relate
information intelligently. Uninformed, unintelligent sources attempt to deviate
my attention from what is real into memory illusion, those things that I
remember to be true, but in fact, aren’t.
Hence the refresher. I arise
late, headache, memory splinters, something asymmetric struggles to fit, my
shoulders are too tight for anything to be easy. The verb to be! The verb to be! Action is
more becoming to the gentleman, but I, jilted ball cap, lo ego, struggling to
find clean pants, muttering, sputtering, pulse pouting, scrutinizing, and
glutenizing to boot, I need a good reason to go out and suffer my abuse.
“Camels, Dude”
What exactly happened on the other side of the needle’s
eye? I will never see because I got
stuck, stuck staring at the loopy end and missed the metaphor. A spasmodic insertion concluded my vision.
The end.
“Self-Addendum”
Mortal men wallowing in the shallows of dolorous demeanors, haphazard
blankets on the wall-to-wall apartment floor for a bed, punctilious expressions
all around. Imagining self-mutilation
and living in the moment, doing neither.
Guts. Glory. Escher? Allin. Jesus Christ.
Quality counts individuality by ones, and to each, ownership. Owner, boner, a sketchy loner enters a bar. Each and every effect of ethanol on
biochemistry realized multiplied by herb, spice, and illusion. The self-indulgence of rich slaves, the
struggle for abundant resources leaves idiots stuffed, self-taxidermy. Guts in the mess hall, spilled truth serum on
the hands of a self-administrator.
Robots suck. Short circuitry is a tail chase, a bitch dogged
affair. Tongue in the short-hairs,
active cowlick brushing the mane of motherly vanity, living the dirty life to
get clean. Should I work harder at
earning more or protest rising cost? What
do you say we get high without memory loss?
Forget your troubles!
Forget your cares!
Forget your worries!
Caution: Bears!
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