Thursday, February 7, 2008


a new pill. a new sort of magic. everyone else is getting rich from them, so why shouldnt i have a little taste. trembling and covered with a cold film of deepest regret, i feel like my head is an exact match of the monitor right in front of me, glowing half as brightly. it makes a gesture by a slight cocking of its head, this, the monitor i stole from an old job. only, everything is very wavy and im becoming part of the actual machine now. cuboid i think is the word. cuboidal. my neck cranes lazily favoring my right shoulder. my nose is capriciously draining a warm liquid and my lungs are kittens trapped down at the hateful bottom of a burlap bag in some bog full of merry myth and assorted detritus . this is my new life now. chronic masturbation and sleeping pills are all that get me through the night, would that the night would forgo rub burns that look more like chankers by morning. now only, i got this fear that says my hearts gonna explode while im drifting off, the glow of the plastic skull stretching out into a square of no charming proportions. after all a square is always a square. that would be real shitty if that happened. fucks sake i at least want to be conscious when i go. then there's a sudden shift to a low shelf of books. that turk writer with the Swedish gold in one hand still twisting his turban is coo coo coo cooing me with his hidden, oh so very sharp sabre at his side swathed in red silk, while suddenly saul bellow sniffs the white carnation in his lapel yammering on about Roosevelt and his intellectual prowess and social talents to cajole and thrill people with his mock semite acumen. my head is swaying to and fro now like those awful thanksgiving day balloons i once almost froze my scrotum off trying pathetically to partake in that sappy brand of good old fashioned. my legs were covered in shingles as striped as a barber's pole by the time i gave up and ditched in for a ice cold vodka. these pills will do me in real good one day. i do so love them.

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