at some point in the year i decided to drink less. i wasn't afraid of addiction. i was afraid of being fat. a friend of mine poked fun and the bite marks sank deep. i ran. i ate less shit. i ate bananas and carrots like they were made of Mrs. Butterworths. so much of me changed in order to fit into a medium shirt again.
at some point i missed the sweet syrup of that beautiful metaphorical brown slave shaped bottle. i kept running. i kept shunning hot dogs. the experiment turned towards how much i could drink and still lose weight. after all, it was never an escape from drunkenness. it was an escape from the facsimile of a fetus i kept above my waist line. if i could still drink and lose the food baby... awesome.
mid to late October.... i wrapped my hand around the most perfect shape in the world one more familiar time. since then, i have spent each and every night with the cold, sweating, cylindrical pint of perfection that seems to somehow drive my life. i found out pretty fast that it was never ever the beer that fought the belt loop.
you read this blog... you know i used to try and write. you know i want to now. there is some distorted goal to be Charles bukowski. in a small effort, i got shit faced and sat in front of my computer. holy shit i was shit faced. it was a walk home that i don't remember and will never believe if you try to relive it for me. amazingly i remember the end of it. from the bar stool to the sofa, its all gone.... but i remember sitting in the same spot as i am now... with the same keyboard i am caressing at this very second. i was so hammered that i cant honestly tell you anything about that night but i beg to be certain that i poured my heart out to Microsoft word and that obnoxious paper clip.
wouldn't you know... if i was too drunk to remember that i walked home i would be too drunk to remember to press ctrl+s. whatever. I'm sure it sucked. i bet it was just as typical as all of the BS teen aged love trash that i wrote about as a middle schooler. some girl (fuck it, woman. I'm 31) makes it all better. some set of tits changes how the world works and I'm going to cure cancer with love. that's what shitty poets write about. take a shitty drunk poet.... even worse.
we are a joke. art is a cum shot. i don't care how you look at the world... we are here to not die and fuck til the future pops out. i don't know why people keep trying to make it pretty... including me.
1 comment:
Because it IS pretty.
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