by on Feb.19, 2011


I’m in public. I’ve got that pulsing thing in my right temple. I’m basically tithing 90% of my thoughts here. I roll in with this fishbowl feeling and head straight for the people who look least drunk. Someone tries to strike up a conversation but I’m being really standoffish. Everything feels translated into Sanskrit. I’m like retarded and operating remotely. I think about staring hard into a mirror someplace private but it’s like there is no bathroom only a line to the bathroom. Some people I know are floating around like a Greek chorus so I bail. Try to hail a cab but I can’t even deal. I’m walking south toward the bridge eating an energy bar splashing bottled water on my face. I feel the sky pressing down like a positively charged void. I feel so sick. I feel impossible. I feel like after-birth.

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1 comment for this entry:

    […] I’m like a new machine tied into the factory.  I’m so gone I don’t know what that means.  When I lit this cigarette the sun was shining, and forever it will be.  I inhale to every dream that’s ever been had.  When words combine with other words the new sun forms and I am forever.  There’s two dudes next to me but they don’t know my name.  It’s okay because in life these things don’t matter.  My boots make me two inches taller and I only have fashion to blame.  When somebody called my name I nodded and then continued to drink.  My nostrils flare like a new life.  I’m not having it.  There’s nothing I can disagree with right now. blog comments powered by Disqus /* […]