Friday, May 25, 2007

Snow Days

(A super old journal entry that I recently uncovered....this is the abridged version as the actual version went on for nearly 18 pages)


Sniffing a wintery wonderland of its aspriny goodness

Something so compact meant to elevate my very spirit

Simply makes me feel normal

Negating the ounces of fluid depression

The Pipe filled of sleepiness

shaped like little green crumpled pieces of paper

That litter the floor around my throw-n

Pieces nature makes more perfect

Then anything I will ever write.

I call my state focused

Missing the mark

I am not attentive to that which I should be

But to that which is attracting me

That after all is the point

I make this switch effortlessly

My shaking leg re guiled to an amusement

A matter of fact

As if it has nothing to do with me

Until it hits me it does and makes me a little nervous

A feeling that dissipates

With another bump of the table

I hate re-rolling this dollar



So I begin a hunt for some tape

Realizing on my quest how funny it is to only have a one dollar bill in my hand

With pile of dreams fit for a pop star on my table

I find the tape next to a scissor and some straws in a drawer

For some reason I still take the tape

Can't change my mind now

I am part of nature and nature is perfect in its imperfection

So I am perfect in my in perfection

My thoughts inheriting this same standard of acceptance for perfection

The profound statement and thought

Coincides with the turning on of my computer

In the hunt for porn

I watch some of my favorite clips

In an detached critic sort of way

I have sat in all three chairs in my living room in the last five minutes

Trying to find the one that sits best

For the view

I only have 8 cigarettes Left

Estimate Crash time in two hours

Math is completed on this equation

With unfavorable results

Two more and I will start for bed

I inspect my tape job and am pleased



I love the sound of porn

I move to a chair where I can see it again

lighting

Recalculating

Realizing how cold my hands are

Heat is turned up in vain

Heat is not the problem

I attribute it to some circulation problem

The same one that is causing me not to worry about the apparent lack of blood flow to my dick

Maybe I just need some help

A booty call SOS text is sent trolling to the masses

"What are you up to tonight?"

Non- specific, non descript just personal enough

Not to arose suspicion

It is just late enough that anyone who gets it

Knows what it is for

Lighting recalculating down to six

as Sixty long seconds pass and still no replies

Spark of panic and desperation begin to display

Before they are interrupted by a vibrating sensation in my lap

Hit number #1

I crawl off the chair and head over the table

Before I reply

P pick up my modern George Washington abstract art creation

And wonder what end I used before

Something I have never thought about before

Guess it doesn't matter



"How long till you can be here?"

Fingers paying homage to a new version of morse code

"An hour?"

looking at my remaining cigarettes I decide that will not do

I check my second line

Then my third

As I text back and forth

i envision having sex with each of them

What it would be like

Because they are all different

My throat is real dry

So reluctantly I leave my spot on the floor

Heading to the kitchen

I turn the water on and let it run till it is cold

I realize that a lot of time has passed since I first turn the water on and insert my glass

Even water is a drug

If you know how to use it right

The clock on the stove says one

Five hours till I have to be at work

One last text that the back door is open

Just in case anyone wants to wake me up

Time to lay down

Well maybe after one more

3 comments:

Little Sis said...

Wow..are you sure we never met in another place?

Love it.

the108 said...

Brian, this is amazing. You have an unbelievable talent. I could make passionate love to your poetry :-)

Mags said...

And I could make passionate love to you BECAUSE of your poetry.

;)