2003-10-28 - 2:17 a.m.
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never satisfied. not enough of a party.
my dad's whiskey in my glass, dad's bob dylan cd playing. christ.
who's gonna look you straight in the eye and hold your bad luck hand?
(bob dylan, that. not me.)
weekend of rocknroll and a very small car with atavan pills and bacardi orange rum, blunts and networking, beautiful people in santa cruz, but what kind of party ends at 11:30??
I guess a party that is also part memorial for a local and well loved musician/ scene icon who died of a heroin overdose one year prior. and while I'm writing someone is smoking out of the gravity bong in the kitchen next to the dirty dishes and the drumset vibrates silently in the living room where it is placed close enough to converse with the piano.
does love solve itself? does anything end? are we older than nothing at all, if it is us who invented time and nothing at all doesn't know about it?
have you heard about the storms in the worlds heart? the fires and bombs are everywhere and increasing, I am not an apocalyptician but must accept the evidence, nevertheless. people, theres a commotion. a hubbub. i'll be with the green and growing things, with the music and slender multiplication.
I'm feeling a sadness that is cut with warmth and goes up the straw with a smirk to ignite fireworks of delicious melancholy in the brain, fuzzy warmth in the fingers and a desire that somehow bears waiting. and inspite of metaphors I may or may not have used in this paragraph there are no nose drugs present. I'm choosing the calm and steadfast way for now.
