digging in the dirt, find the places i got hurt

i went to class, i went to werk. i took a tech support call as i walked into my apartment. all i could think about was the little oupyr who had promised to take me to coffee. an hour later, i found myself in the latest incarnation of coffee hell, with said oupyr, and two girls i wouldn't fuck with your dick. yes, you. one was so plastered, you could finish a wall with her, and the other was a little gothic tramp with white panties. how do i know they were white? she wore a miniskirt and sat like a man. anyway, enough critique of the scenery...for the first time in a good many years, i found myself on the business end of an open mic. i panicked. i shouted about love, sam kinneson style; i told a pyrate joke; i said 'fuck' a whole lot; i made short jokes about myself...never again without my notebook, i tell you. and that opens up a whole new can of heartworms...

there's too much blood in my alcohol

i can't sleep lately. there's this tail-chasing ouroborus of pain in my chest that tightens every time i try. i woke up this morning, after finally getting some goddamn sleep, and discovered that i'd had a rather severe nosebleed in my sleep. the pillow and my face looked fresh from the abbatoir. the dreams are too vivid; the pain is too real. and now i'm losing blood over it. kinda-shoulda-sorta-woulda...all around me, i see beauty. i see it, i feel it in my bones...there's a kind of overwhelming love of the world that tears your chest open and leaves you crumpled and gasping as it shows you the beauty in all things. oh, don't get me wrong, i'm just as curmudgeonly as ever, but somehow it's more lighthearted now...i spit the same old bitter acid, but now it comes out like soap bubbles of scalding spirit instead. i feel sick.

rose clouds of holocaust...

salem and i have discordant dreams for the future...shocking the complacent denizens of coffee hell so badly that we have time to start running before they start throwing stones. "hey," he says to me, "as long as i don't get lynched..." yelling at the top of my lungs about the two beautiful boys in the band; howling in despair under the too-intense spotlight. listening to him read the vivisectionist's wet dream, and almost feeling the blood-slicked skin against my thigh...hands to my heart, grinning ecstatically at the ceiling...i remember laughing, late one night...a simple kiss sending rose-red cinnamon swirls to my head...fighting thermostasis, one heart attack at a time.

we are lost, we are freaks; we are crippled, we are weak; we are the true heirs to all the world

p.s.: smooches to starrynight for coming by my office and making my whole afternoon worthwhile. you know i love you, sweetie!