Friday, May 11, 2007

no title please

[the me that you know had some second thoughts]

so heres me folks, again with the tired mistakes and the crooked writing. the unnatural logic and the taboo of workplace gossip. today im full of it all. today im just fucking bursting.
there is so much to say.
most of it will never make it down. but the stragglers can make for their own.

last night i got drunk. its nothing new to me sure, but my tolerance. oh my poor tolerance. haha. after the first small glass of rum and coke i was flushed and ready for a rabid knife fights. dizzy with the tie my hand behind me mister, ill take your fucking ear off kind of confidence only the grains can give me. hmm. we wrote last night. all of us. well the three of us, anyway. the only fools who could put so much into finding the paper, grabbing for pens to stand at the ready as jonathon said "time". we wrote and it was thrilling, if only for a moment. abe meandered through his thoughts, and having been drinking for much long than me and duane, eventually mustered a "hey guys i cant even read what im writing". one down. my scratching was full of facades and coverups. trying to pull emotion from something that couldnt stand up to the truth of the topic.
i was hit, i was burning in the air. i was down.
duane wrote on. he had much more to say. he was the last one standing when the clock finally rested. hmm. and he won. oy, he won. but hey i was a close second. abe, honorably mentioned. yes folks this is what we do on a thursday night. this is our party. hmm.

heres what i wrote.
the topic: the one that got away
me: buzzing softly
[im going to embellish. sorry. i have to. im typing now.]

the one that got away was the one that didnt fight.
there was no struggle, there was no turn in events.
there was only his back and sad pleading backround music.
there was only the fleeting glance of another lover running from the scene.
her reflection, if only for a second in the face of a grandfather clock. in our home. her smell on my sheets.
there was only this.
somewhere in the ruins you find yourself swallowing the gravel. its either that or choke on it. you see the lights instead of the steady fog. theres nothing sweeter than knowing that you will survive. unless you also know that youll now have something to carry.
oh, his doe eyes.
oh, his tears on your breasts.
oh, his words.


somehow your on a plane now. pockets empty, the old home empty, and your unknowingly making plans. quietly rebuilding. familiar faces are your new cover. our seeing them for the first time. again. how long has it been?
where have i been?
and somehow it makes sense to the moderator in your mind, as she sifts through your thoughts, nodding in short handed approval. simply recounting the points. checking the matches. double love. what a laugh. no one understands anyway. how could anyone, when you were so deep in love. again with the laughing. silly girl. get on with it.
god, her reflection.
and there are times when you reach back, if only out of curiousity. your hands are swimming in the stale air. thinning air. most times. you just have to see.



now your only anger.
now your fucking away every ounce of pain.
your drinking.
your laughing.
your living.


oh, his grip on your conscious.
oh, his wily curves.

count them now sweetie. your down. down where the loss settles. and youll never know how much your giving. until its gone. its love and all its glory. sign the waiver, meet the standards. the one that never fights.
the one that walks.
the one.


so yea thats what i wrote. i kind of like it. too bad it was a bit innacurate. fuck it.
duanes mouse is really fucking up my christmas.

aaaaaah. now THAT was nice.

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