Hung over.
a barrel.
the edge.
bleary strains and quelching light.
foggy possibilities sifted through.
most disgarded. yet this one?
hand wandered. lips learning.
yes...
clarity emerges.
latent touches tingle.
closed eyes smile.
trouble.
I can still feel you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
later, now with some coffee in me and a head not nearly so clouded by remnant stale whisky vapors... and I think that I was induced into drinking a series of "irish car bombs"... No wonder trouble found me pliant and apparently willing... I sift over the possibilities of what it has in store for me today then decide that what will come is already on it's way. why worry.
this week has been swollen and temperamental. Long 12-14 hour work days and fitful nights. At what point an employee closes my door and asks me "how I can rationalize the personal sacrifices involved with daily selling our souls creatively "... I couldn't of course. I have the lines that I have prepared for these moments, but I just look at him and want to tell him that I can't possibly rationalize anything. Nothing really makes sense and in the end you just have to decide if you are going to put that next foot in front of the other. I gave him a mixed bag of forced optimism and modified taoist rambling about the search for balance. then mumbled something about how nice it would be sometimes to just be a brick layer or the like. sight, butter the brick, place the brick, tap-tap-tap and repeat. Not reinventing everything daily, pulling from our depths for whatever the client is just to feed ourselves... I am not sure that I helped him. I am not sure that I helped myself. Inspiration has slowed to a sickening trickle.
I didn't finish the work that was on my ever replenishing plate. I should go in this weekend... but probably won't. I am looking for trouble to balance out my over responsible tendencies. Plus I started a new Hurakami novel.
Last night is still a bit of a blur, but a few grainy, blurred and over saturated slides have developed in my mind; Images of spanking. Kisses broken off. girls peeing in the parking lot. nails raking back. Liquor loosened secrets released into nibbled ears... and the pictures are still developing. In the end I don't think that trouble got the upper hand.
With thunder crashing outside right now, the schizo forecasters on the weather channel are telling me that the rain might subside tomorrow. If it does I think that I am going to take the motorcycle to the coast. The long way of course. I am aching for time alone. with my thoughts. with the wind.
a barrel.
the edge.
bleary strains and quelching light.
foggy possibilities sifted through.
most disgarded. yet this one?
hand wandered. lips learning.
yes...
clarity emerges.
latent touches tingle.
closed eyes smile.
trouble.
I can still feel you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
later, now with some coffee in me and a head not nearly so clouded by remnant stale whisky vapors... and I think that I was induced into drinking a series of "irish car bombs"... No wonder trouble found me pliant and apparently willing... I sift over the possibilities of what it has in store for me today then decide that what will come is already on it's way. why worry.
this week has been swollen and temperamental. Long 12-14 hour work days and fitful nights. At what point an employee closes my door and asks me "how I can rationalize the personal sacrifices involved with daily selling our souls creatively "... I couldn't of course. I have the lines that I have prepared for these moments, but I just look at him and want to tell him that I can't possibly rationalize anything. Nothing really makes sense and in the end you just have to decide if you are going to put that next foot in front of the other. I gave him a mixed bag of forced optimism and modified taoist rambling about the search for balance. then mumbled something about how nice it would be sometimes to just be a brick layer or the like. sight, butter the brick, place the brick, tap-tap-tap and repeat. Not reinventing everything daily, pulling from our depths for whatever the client is just to feed ourselves... I am not sure that I helped him. I am not sure that I helped myself. Inspiration has slowed to a sickening trickle.
I didn't finish the work that was on my ever replenishing plate. I should go in this weekend... but probably won't. I am looking for trouble to balance out my over responsible tendencies. Plus I started a new Hurakami novel.
Last night is still a bit of a blur, but a few grainy, blurred and over saturated slides have developed in my mind; Images of spanking. Kisses broken off. girls peeing in the parking lot. nails raking back. Liquor loosened secrets released into nibbled ears... and the pictures are still developing. In the end I don't think that trouble got the upper hand.
With thunder crashing outside right now, the schizo forecasters on the weather channel are telling me that the rain might subside tomorrow. If it does I think that I am going to take the motorcycle to the coast. The long way of course. I am aching for time alone. with my thoughts. with the wind.