the next drip tears a new road
like the baphomet in fresh snow
first slow but as the pain eases
the tear accelerates speed
the final drop before the execution
like capicorn in the winter month
travels circular in its revolution
becoming such a wheel that no man
can long upon it stand
and as the months circle into years
here comes the wheel back again
Regards, Esortnom
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
So it goes
I woke up late, around nine thirty so I had to quickly shower in order to be at work by nine. I jumped in and out of the water, and back into the cold air of the apartment to get dressed. My cat watched curiously as I ran furiously around looking for my work shirt which had all the keys for the store and my pen in it. I finally found it flung in a far corner underneath a stack of magazines. I poured some food and fresh water in the cat’s bowl and glanced at the clock. I had to be at work in fifteen minutes, and it was about a ten minute drive into the suburban wasteland.
I packed a small amount of marijuana into a little pipe and mixed together a small rum and coke. I took a hit of the high powered marijuana and held it into my lungs as I drank half of the cocktail. I exhaled and coughed furiously. I put on some music trying to squeeze in the last bits of freedom I’d have in a long while.
I finished off the marijuana and downed the rest of my drink. I poured a tiny bit more of rum into the empty glass and drank a straight shot of the stuff. It was good drink, expensive and imported from the islands, and it went down smooth and warm into my early morning stomach, making my head clear a bit.
I bid farewell to my cat and went out the door locking it behind me. Down the stairs and into my car, I hopped behind the wheel and opened all the windows as I rolled down the driveway as a neighbor eyed me suspiciously.
He was a dark haired man with skin like leather boots, middle aged, whose body looked as though he had spent the last twenty years or so mixing concrete and digging ditches. I nodded at him and flashed him a quick ‘peace’ sign with one hand and the other on the wheel. He quickly approached me, and made a motion for me to stop. I was late for work, but I held up and allowed him to walk over to me.
“Hey, I live across the hall from you.” He said to me.
“Is that a fact?” I asked, as a slight feeling of horror overcame me. Were the all night acid trips upsetting him? The loud music keeping him awake? Was he aware of all the fireworks my friends and I were responsible for illegally igniting? The constant smell of marijuana smoke? It could be a number of things I was doing in violation of everything he appeared to hold sacred.
“I notice you have a lot of people coming and go, pretty often. Pretty late at night sometimes.” He said.
“Right. I’m a pretty popular guy, I like to entertain. Feel free to stop if you wish, I’m just not sure if it’s your cup of tea. I run with a pretty low brow crowd, a man like you might feel embarrassed to be seen with us. Were you military?” I asked him.
“Correct. Marines. But that was a long time ago.” He adjusted a pair of sunglasses resting on his head, gazing across the street nervously before turning back to me. “Sounds like you guys have fun up there. I know you smoke, you blaze, right?”
“Absolutely.” I replied.
“Right, well that’s cool, the people downstairs seem like real strange jobs. Don’t worry about us, but I think you should know that your friends shouldn’t park here. Now, I don’t give a shit,” he said motioning with his hands, “but these people all around us do. Some guy came upstairs the other night and asked me if those were my friends, of course I denied it-why shouldn’t I?”
I couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t, so he continued.
“So yeah, just have them park somewhere else, I like the parking lot down by the old mill, lots of privacy and no one gives a fuck what happens down there. Cool?”
“Not a problem, sir. Anything else today?”
“Yeah, feel free to swing by for a drink sometimes. It’s just me and my girl, I work a hell of a lot, she does too, but now that we know at least one of our neighbors is cool, we should knock a few back.”
“Right on. Didn’t catch your name, though?” I asked.
He extended a tanned arm. “Mills.” He replied.
“Moon.” I said, gripping his hand. I noticed that somewhere he had learned that a man could be judged by the grip of his handshake.
“Well, enjoy your day, I’ll be sure to spread the word about the parking.” I sped off before I got roped into another conversation. Mills seemed nice enough, not too bright, yet sharp enough to realize that he was a phony. He was most likely a conman, trying to get something from me or exploit something out of me.
I played the radio loud and mean, tearing through the narrow back corridors of my town, passing through a couple of other meaningless, disappointing towns until I finally reached the outskirts of the urban sprawl. A hospital rose up on the corner and I hung a quick left, through the oncoming traffic of the green light and roared uphill until I came to the corner pharmacy where I managed.
Regards, Esortnom
I packed a small amount of marijuana into a little pipe and mixed together a small rum and coke. I took a hit of the high powered marijuana and held it into my lungs as I drank half of the cocktail. I exhaled and coughed furiously. I put on some music trying to squeeze in the last bits of freedom I’d have in a long while.
I finished off the marijuana and downed the rest of my drink. I poured a tiny bit more of rum into the empty glass and drank a straight shot of the stuff. It was good drink, expensive and imported from the islands, and it went down smooth and warm into my early morning stomach, making my head clear a bit.
I bid farewell to my cat and went out the door locking it behind me. Down the stairs and into my car, I hopped behind the wheel and opened all the windows as I rolled down the driveway as a neighbor eyed me suspiciously.
He was a dark haired man with skin like leather boots, middle aged, whose body looked as though he had spent the last twenty years or so mixing concrete and digging ditches. I nodded at him and flashed him a quick ‘peace’ sign with one hand and the other on the wheel. He quickly approached me, and made a motion for me to stop. I was late for work, but I held up and allowed him to walk over to me.
“Hey, I live across the hall from you.” He said to me.
“Is that a fact?” I asked, as a slight feeling of horror overcame me. Were the all night acid trips upsetting him? The loud music keeping him awake? Was he aware of all the fireworks my friends and I were responsible for illegally igniting? The constant smell of marijuana smoke? It could be a number of things I was doing in violation of everything he appeared to hold sacred.
“I notice you have a lot of people coming and go, pretty often. Pretty late at night sometimes.” He said.
“Right. I’m a pretty popular guy, I like to entertain. Feel free to stop if you wish, I’m just not sure if it’s your cup of tea. I run with a pretty low brow crowd, a man like you might feel embarrassed to be seen with us. Were you military?” I asked him.
“Correct. Marines. But that was a long time ago.” He adjusted a pair of sunglasses resting on his head, gazing across the street nervously before turning back to me. “Sounds like you guys have fun up there. I know you smoke, you blaze, right?”
“Absolutely.” I replied.
“Right, well that’s cool, the people downstairs seem like real strange jobs. Don’t worry about us, but I think you should know that your friends shouldn’t park here. Now, I don’t give a shit,” he said motioning with his hands, “but these people all around us do. Some guy came upstairs the other night and asked me if those were my friends, of course I denied it-why shouldn’t I?”
I couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t, so he continued.
“So yeah, just have them park somewhere else, I like the parking lot down by the old mill, lots of privacy and no one gives a fuck what happens down there. Cool?”
“Not a problem, sir. Anything else today?”
“Yeah, feel free to swing by for a drink sometimes. It’s just me and my girl, I work a hell of a lot, she does too, but now that we know at least one of our neighbors is cool, we should knock a few back.”
“Right on. Didn’t catch your name, though?” I asked.
He extended a tanned arm. “Mills.” He replied.
“Moon.” I said, gripping his hand. I noticed that somewhere he had learned that a man could be judged by the grip of his handshake.
“Well, enjoy your day, I’ll be sure to spread the word about the parking.” I sped off before I got roped into another conversation. Mills seemed nice enough, not too bright, yet sharp enough to realize that he was a phony. He was most likely a conman, trying to get something from me or exploit something out of me.
I played the radio loud and mean, tearing through the narrow back corridors of my town, passing through a couple of other meaningless, disappointing towns until I finally reached the outskirts of the urban sprawl. A hospital rose up on the corner and I hung a quick left, through the oncoming traffic of the green light and roared uphill until I came to the corner pharmacy where I managed.
Regards, Esortnom
Fatigue
Slapping her ass, she looked sadly back at me as we awkwardly existed together for the last time. I felt a twinge of guilt over leaving her. It was costing me her light colored eyes, her giant ass in tight shorts, and all the good pieces of furniture. Yet, in the grey between certainty and despair, I held my ground, trusting the choking urge that what I was doing was the best thing for both of us, because I knew I could not give her what she needed or deserved.
Belle Two was dangerously young and fragile, yet could have possibly been one of the best things to ever happen to me. But everything got so mechanical and so trivial so quickly, and she was right, I was all hung up still over Belle Number One, whom I didn't even bother referring to as "number one", because the original is usually better than the sequel, although in this case it was not true and I knew it, but still didn't care. Poor optimistic Belle Number Two, silently tolerating my habits and lifestyle despite not understanding or participating, it was like she was on the sidelines watching without knowing the rules, while I ran back and forth, diving for bad passes on a muddy field with no grip. Night after night, climbing narrow wooden stairs to our city apartment, I'd face her hopeful eyes, eager and anxious to please me anyway and anyhow, if not to make me happy than just to get me to stay at least another day, because we both knew it was true--I saw it in her eyes every morning when I rolled over to take a shower and drink my coffee and whiskey, I saw it in her eyes when I came home every night and she seemed surprised that I was back again--we knew it was all slipping away,
"Anything you want." She had told me just to get me to stay, offering up her body to me. What kind of sadness comes to be when not even kinky sex will keep a young man home?
And it made me sick and ugly inside. I had to turn away my eyes whenever she tried to tell me that she loved me, that she had grown to need me, to rely on me. I could not even rely upon myself, I could not even love myself, and I did not want the burden, the weight of another life which I would bungle and balance.
I could still hear the rising panic in her voice echoing in my head whenever a heavy decision had to be made, making me sore and tired. And fatigue can change so many things.
Regards, Esortnom
Belle Two was dangerously young and fragile, yet could have possibly been one of the best things to ever happen to me. But everything got so mechanical and so trivial so quickly, and she was right, I was all hung up still over Belle Number One, whom I didn't even bother referring to as "number one", because the original is usually better than the sequel, although in this case it was not true and I knew it, but still didn't care. Poor optimistic Belle Number Two, silently tolerating my habits and lifestyle despite not understanding or participating, it was like she was on the sidelines watching without knowing the rules, while I ran back and forth, diving for bad passes on a muddy field with no grip. Night after night, climbing narrow wooden stairs to our city apartment, I'd face her hopeful eyes, eager and anxious to please me anyway and anyhow, if not to make me happy than just to get me to stay at least another day, because we both knew it was true--I saw it in her eyes every morning when I rolled over to take a shower and drink my coffee and whiskey, I saw it in her eyes when I came home every night and she seemed surprised that I was back again--we knew it was all slipping away,
"Anything you want." She had told me just to get me to stay, offering up her body to me. What kind of sadness comes to be when not even kinky sex will keep a young man home?
And it made me sick and ugly inside. I had to turn away my eyes whenever she tried to tell me that she loved me, that she had grown to need me, to rely on me. I could not even rely upon myself, I could not even love myself, and I did not want the burden, the weight of another life which I would bungle and balance.
I could still hear the rising panic in her voice echoing in my head whenever a heavy decision had to be made, making me sore and tired. And fatigue can change so many things.
Regards, Esortnom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
