|It has come to my attention...
||[May. 14th, 2009|10:49 pm]
It has come to my attention that I am now an amalgamation of virgin ideas. I type, and where before I was laid out in all my flaws my text now alerts me with red lines when I spell something wrong. A kindness for the drunk and the addled.|
Poppy was arrested four months ago. My patron saint hog-tied, overweight and old. I sniffed, until I looked in the mirror.
It all comes down to what has happened, what was and what is. But the world doesn't notice, because Brianna is in trouble and Chris bowed out of the awards ceremony in shame. My friends have all fallen, died or changed. I think I may have changed too.
Still partly the man I always was I wonder if all of this is real or I've dreamed it. The memories all seem so distant and arbitrary. Trays of shots and lines of coke and rageloven'mercy all called up as images on a kodak gallery.
Would you all recognise me today? Would you see my dark skin and hard eyes and wonder where the eyeliner went? Would you dismiss it all, as the slow sullen art of growing up and growing old?
I wonder at the past, and I am in the future. I find myself for the first time in a long time wanting to speak again and say... something.
But for now the vodka overwhelms my powers of articulation, and I have one more day before the weekend comes to ground. Maybe then I'll talk with my head up, and my eyes bright. I'll give it one more try.
For one more day.