Saturday, July 16, 2011
Manic & Senseless~Coffee & Coathangers
I'm working on getting everything sorted out so I can finish up that other post and should have it up soon, mmhmm, I sure will. This one reads a little manic due to me being suuuuuuper sick at the time and maybe doesn't make much sense, enjoy.
I'm stuck in that unbearable frame of mind that is more often than not brought on by doing too much dope for far too long and then suddenly having none at all. I could go get some if I really wanted to I guess but I haven't yet. Not that I'm trying to get clean or anything, I'm just kinda stuck. A long ass drive isn't looking very appealing but one more night of no sleep and I may very well change my fucking mind.
There's nothing here and anyone who could track down a worthy substitute is either in jail (Frances), or visiting his Mama in AZ (Adrian), at some unspeakable commune where old hippies go to die. I barely missed out on the former and almost choked on my own bile when asked if I cared to join in on the latter. Commune...really? Not in this lifetime, ya fuck!
Gross! My sense of smell is off the charts right now and it's a constest between which overpowering odor will cause me to vomit first. The coffee grounds/garlicky greens in the trash are vying for superiority with the ashtray just outside the open window. If I had to pick I'd say that the trash wins, hands down because there's just something about the smell of old-fresh minced garlic and wilty collards mixed with coffee that is undeniably stomach churning. Excuse me while I:
a) take out the trash
promptly followed by:
b) wretch all over top of said rubbish.
Uno momento, por favor, back in 2.
(Roughly 10 minutes later)
That took a bit longer than I expected as I had to stop several times along the way to distance myself from the garbage bag and regain composure. I did not throw up...yet, but the day is still young.
Fuck, this coffee is making me sweat like a dock worker. I know they say ladies don’t sweat but if we’ve established one thing it’s that I ain’t no lady, haha.
My coffee always has a gallon of creamer in it because I can’t take it any other way. It was once suggested to me that the reason I can’t drink it straight is due to the fact that it smells like Heroin. To which I replied that if this person’s Heroin smelled like Nescafe he had bigger problems than how much cream I put in my Godamned cup. The nerve!
So that drive is sounding better and better, especially as the caffeine sweats turn to plain old cold sweats and make me feel like my skin is trying to find a new place to live. Traitorous bastard! And after all the trouble I’ve gone through to decorate it with bad tattoos and continuous track marks. Some things just never give you the appreciation you deserve, am I right? Of course I am, I don’t know any other way to be, haha.
Having recently been exposed to Donald Ray Pollack, I am more than a little disappointed than any aspirations I had towards writing a novel about Hillbilly meth-head serial killers has been thwarted. Flushed out of the womb of creation more effectively than a zygote at the mercy of a back alley abortionist. The genius that is DRP has unwittingly slain what could’ve been my crowning achievement, as effectively as if he had wielded the rusty coat hanger himself.
I do know how to paint a pretty picture, don’t I?
Whatever, not too broken up about it, how can you be when someone does something so much better than you ever could? I just wanted to be able to throw in that bit about the coat hanger, that’s all that really was.
I think I’m going to start recording all my phone conversations like Andy Warhol or was it Brigid Belin? Both? Whatever, I thought of that last night and it’s sounding better and better. Of course if anyone finds out they’ll lynch me, so maybe it’s not got as much merit as previously decided. One of those things that sounds good at the time but is best not carried out. On to the next big idea...
I feel like such a rip-off right now, people ask me to write and I don’t think this is quite what y’all had in mind. Speaking of huge disappointments, I tried to like Duran Duran’s new(er) thing they have going on but after sitting through a few seconds of their first single (can’t remember the name), I gave up. The closest I can come to describing it is that it sounds like it was produced by Trent Reznor on Quaaludes. Like he wanted to pull a Ray Manzarek and play on their track but fell asleep at the synthesizer and then promptly had a seizure. No bueno.
I swear if another asshole tells me it’s time to ‘Greet the day’ I’m gonna fucking lose it. Greet this, you prick! Easy for a gakked out tard to be cheerful, especially when he’s only just begun his tweek Odessey for the week. Even that douchebag has gotten more sleep than I have!
I need to go cough and gag around some more cigarette smoke, so I’ll wrap this bitch up. Back soon, I suppose.