August 2010: Sometimes the silver lining is a piano wire around your throat.

by maddrunkgenius

The hills are the greenest I’ve ever seen & resemble jungles. (‘Lush, lush,’ I stutter.)

OK Go: A person in the front row of the Austin show had a Oxford English Annotated Bible with them at the show, and brought it out during the handbells.  Who brings a bible to a rock concert?

So hot, I saw a lizard squirm on the sidewalk, crippled with burned feet.

‘You’ve been drinking to much.’ Ah, well, there’s the fallacy in your argument.

‘Come to me softly, but swift,’ he whispered in the warm night air, and soon came the mighty romantic breeze to close his eyes and stroke his cheeks.

Three pens and a beer; a table, chair & two decades of thwarted ambition.

God is great.

How we tip drunk is how we are.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t do this every weekend. The rest of the time, I wish I did it every day.

  •  The night’s exuberance is matched by the morning’s despondence.

Everyone sitting alone is eavesdropping.

  •  The western storm blots out the twilight sun, and–between lightnings–gets outshone by the faint-fading east.
  •  At least manic-depressives are happy some of the time.
  •  ‘It was a weird relationship. Well, all relationships are weird.’ –on dating someone going thru a divorce.
  • Tremble, tremble, tiny fingers. (Why in the name of God did the clay-shaper choose to be hungover when He shaped this vessel?)

Oh, crumbling, crumbling, drooping sagging, succumbing to gravity’s pull and entropy’s… Well, I don’t really know what. “Disorder” is hardly anthropic, is it?

NO! I mean, no, I havent thot much about it.

I hate waking up naked & not remembering why. (At least the front door is still locked this time.)

‘My piss smells like AIDS & penicillin. Must be August.’

  • Kids are age-appropriate retards.

What a strange & terrible collection of progeny we make, springing from one pair’s loins & those who bumped hips with these. (Family reunion)

I think I’ll feel very sad for a fairly long time.

I know all clouds are lined with silver, but I’d really just like one or two to interpose between the sun.

  • So my request is answered by all the breezy, billowing thunderheads from every edge of the horizon.

Because I’m sad, because I’m happy, because I want to forget, because I want to remember more clearly, because I’m bored & tomorrow is already fading too quickly into last week (my headache needs the lift of sweet yellow sour bubbles).

It’s not sight of the beast that makes them flee; the snout suffices.

The dull thud is there, but it pushes out the headache.

‘If I dont perform well, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’

  • ‘How long has it been?’ she laughed.
  • Well,’ he said, ‘I made sure to check the expiration date on the condoms.’

I hate the guilt of the morning ugghhh that inescapably follows a nite of revelry. All of the self-awareness that disappeared comes rushing back until you can analyze yourself in 4D, and watch your black organs pump.

  • Better: ‘comes rushing back twiceover’ or ‘I hate the guilt of the morning ugghhh’ & no more.

‘What’s today?’

  • ‘The 22nd.’
  • ‘Of July?’
  • ‘No, August.’
  • ‘Damn, I gotta stop drinking.’

She was lucky the man who thought he was her father considered shameful his desire to mix his semen with his blood.

  • She was unlucky the man her mother had known briefly 16 years before was back in town and felt no shame in stripping bare any 16 year old waitress to mount atop the pool table of his mind’s eye, whether he saw his own nose in her face or no. Possibly, he enjoyed it more. (In this, her father was a true narcissist.)
  • He wobbly stood & finished his glass because he was thirsty & didnt know how long his toast would last. (Indeed, as the clinky revolting delicious battery acid cascaded down into his stomach he rounded drunk for the second time, dispelling even self-deceits of sobriety.) ‘We’ll be faggots till our syphilitic cocks rot & drop off,’ he said, then presented his glass & soaked the last of the whiskey out with his tongue. (They all did likewise.)  But his wet tongue continued to drip words out of his lips. ‘Then we’ll bend over to pick them up, and still be faggots, haw haw haw.’ Which was when he realized he was about to piss himself.
  • Anna tasted Jennifer’s lipgloss & smelled Jim’s cologne on her lover, and remembered then that if Rosie was close enough to kiss her, she could see the hickies on Anna’s neck that Gabriel left the night before while Rosie was flying in from Dallas. But neither said anything. Rosie also undressed & climbed in Anna’s bed, and they chose to rumple the covers in gaspy silence rather than spoil the morning with lies.

My futon still smells of cigarette smoke & another man’s woman, the memory of which gives me joy. She slept off a drunk & took advantage of my rapine hospitality, tho others defended themselves. So I slept in my bed for the first time in months, but he roused her & they left (me alone unconscious happy).

My arteries, glutted with wine, feel heavy as tho I drank a bottle of lead instead of red. My eyes burn & head hums as like a hive of neurons (bzzzz bzzz) out for blood. But cut me open & hand me bread & I’ll spray a communion right into the faithful flock’s mouths.

Chronicles was written by a time-travelling Thomas Bowdler who wanted a nice, clean version of Samuel & Kings, with all of the interesting stuff cut out. (It’s rare to see such unadulterated shite preserved thru the centuries.)

I love Jesus & the doctrine of Grace, but no one has given me much reason for the reality of God (I dont care; I love the Pentateuch).

  •  I dont care, tho the sinking ship plunge; the descent is steady & I enjoy it.
  • Ah, I dont need no external validation; Bach is proof enough, of what, I dont know (but where are the Mustians of yesteryear?).
  • Quite glad I am (& lucky too) I opened my eyes to the bursting light without a BBBZZZZZZZ of my cell phone & before work itself.

I thought I was the sick I made me, but then it turned out I was the sick God made me.

I am an old man in my joints & enthusiasm.

My milk went bad a day early. This portends a poor week ahead.

  • Time for new milk. Hope you feel better today.
  • I poured it all out. But I was in disbelief that it smelled as bad as it did. ‘I have one more day, I have one more day!’

I’ve been floating nearby my head since I woke up, and I don’t like it. (Today has not been a good day.)

  •  As far as things go, I suppose it’s better that they get on with it than not. The year is slumping to its end and will be here soon. Many things changed. Actually, they all changed in 2010. They just kept on. It is so very funny how my life has become what it has. Inertia is a powerful thing. It rolls on & on top of you. I am so terribly sorry about everything. But not really. I have one guiding ambition in life: to be besotted. I do a fantastic job at it. I am a fantastic human creature. And as long as it lasts, very happy. But nothing lasts forever. Does it? Sometimes the silver lining is a piano wire around your throat.