A long gone memory resurfaced with hands grasping whatever it was that made me a passionate drunk in the first place. It was hung askew, drawn bent, questioned widely, dreamt belligerantly. The sign hung upon a door shielding a poor, sober student from countless inebriated assaults; screeching incoherence, pawed inconsistencies, passed out wastrels sagging across the staircase. Often two towering whiskey drunks slung their insults of 100 proof breath into each other for laughter, insanity seen by most; the reverb of these delightfully tact-free interactions oozed into the room. The room in which a lonely man sat, guarding a tired soul. He's lonely. He's was waiting a long time. And he was there for you right beyond that door: Waiting. It was an empty threat, this man's droopy hand, but it was a latent one. A threat that seemed to waft into the room like a series of blast-drunk yelps at 4am. A legend was being built upon gallons of distilled liquid, droning cigarette clouds erupting from dank basements, whispers of windowpanes shattering out their insides after being wounded by a BB gun. Fireworks left glowing streaks of smoke under swaying chandeliers while the Lebowski machine spoke of wondrous lifestyles of limber minds. Muffled thumps were heard behind a wood panel door that marked the beginning of the gimp room. A spare tire hung from the porch above two broken out televisions that begged for attention from the neighbors. A shattered twinkling disco ball warned others of gross injustices done to our realm. Nothing could take away what the man upon the door held throne over. We all were what this man upon the door was: searching for that which would keep us company. May we all see that door open.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Five Oh Five
A long gone memory resurfaced with hands grasping whatever it was that made me a passionate drunk in the first place. It was hung askew, drawn bent, questioned widely, dreamt belligerantly. The sign hung upon a door shielding a poor, sober student from countless inebriated assaults; screeching incoherence, pawed inconsistencies, passed out wastrels sagging across the staircase. Often two towering whiskey drunks slung their insults of 100 proof breath into each other for laughter, insanity seen by most; the reverb of these delightfully tact-free interactions oozed into the room. The room in which a lonely man sat, guarding a tired soul. He's lonely. He's was waiting a long time. And he was there for you right beyond that door: Waiting. It was an empty threat, this man's droopy hand, but it was a latent one. A threat that seemed to waft into the room like a series of blast-drunk yelps at 4am. A legend was being built upon gallons of distilled liquid, droning cigarette clouds erupting from dank basements, whispers of windowpanes shattering out their insides after being wounded by a BB gun. Fireworks left glowing streaks of smoke under swaying chandeliers while the Lebowski machine spoke of wondrous lifestyles of limber minds. Muffled thumps were heard behind a wood panel door that marked the beginning of the gimp room. A spare tire hung from the porch above two broken out televisions that begged for attention from the neighbors. A shattered twinkling disco ball warned others of gross injustices done to our realm. Nothing could take away what the man upon the door held throne over. We all were what this man upon the door was: searching for that which would keep us company. May we all see that door open.
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The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true, as I have heard from Hell.
ReplyDeleteFor the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at tree of life, and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed, and appear infinite, and holy whereas it now appears finite & corrupt.
This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment.
But first the notion that man has a body distinct from his soul, is to be expunged: this I shall do, by printing in the infernal method, by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent surfaces away, and displaying the infinite which was hid.
If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.
For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.
wait, are you the fuckers that shot at our attic with a BB gun? that shit almost took my eye out... long live the disco kitties.
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