Wednesday, January 3, 2007

Black tie living room couch professor, when will you be through with me I'd like to know

Sun burns and blisters a syphillis upon the earth as my bare feet mirror its pain and ache for the cool shadows one, two, three houses down. It's an old game, running from patch to patch, feeling the bubbles of boiling skin reach that unbearable level then slowly recede, a low tide of relief exposing the tiny grains of asphalt which barnacle themselves to the bottom of my feet. It's a concrete desert here in Brunswick, nary a tree to filter the light, barely a patch of green now that summer has bored the landscape, greens to brown, oranges to yellows, jet black to office grey. It's all fading, and I've faded with it. There are choices to be made, decisions to ponder, but the sun makes them all for me, and I drip a sweaty malaise until the middle of the night, when the only sound other than late night walkers, is that of my beating heart, and the terrible twins that live inside my brain. Good and Evil, it ain't no joke.


You're a cunt, a liar, a thief, a drunkard. a waste, all potential, no action, no results, no evolution, no change, forever spinning, you're on a merry-go-round, a carousel, a spiral, when you gonna get off, boy? WHEN YOU GONNA GET OFF, BOY?

I "guh", and my fists close involuntarily. On the stereo, the last verse plays over dual, distorted guitars:

So don't make me a captive.
I don't feel like talking your shit.
I nod my broken head.
I'm not too amused with humans.

It's a good song. It's a powerful song. And right now, Sebedoh soundtrack the fuck out of my life.

But I'm thinking, not drinking, and that's a start. Like rejoining the human race by collecting piece by piece of identification. I'm starting to exist now. And as I collect reality around me, I slowly shed the pieces of fantasy that I have held close for so long.

It's a start.


The heat wraps a blanket around the bricks that stays until well after dark. It doesn't help, but who the fuck had help anyways? The beginning has begun to begin, on the very eve of 34, and this time I'm going to ride the momentum, flip the roof off, cruise in 5th downhill for a while, just let it roll, and let this fucking road finish for once. Let the road dictate, instead of trying to build it wherever I traverse. Maybe I've never done that, or maybe I chose roads that never led anywhere in the first place. All these years, all they ever did, was lead to roam. And that's what I've done, circle after circle. And they were right, it didn't take a day, it took fifteen fucking years. So now in the heat, I'll find out which bridges are built solid behind me, and which ones will flame and flare, flash and flicker. That way, at least the roads behind me will begin to make sense. Even if the one ahead leads down and dark to who knows where.


My escape plan disappeared as they always do. I shot my mouth off, I got excited, I wanted it, but I wanted it for nothing, and I've never got shit for nothing. Everything comes with its own pound of flesh. So what's it gonna take this time? An arm and a leg? Yeah, they all take an arm and a leg, and that's all these days if you're lucky. But now, I got my ruthless streak on, and if they want 'em, they can have 'em. I'll grow more, I'll be the man with a thousand limbs, always out to lend a hand, to put my best foot forward, and I'll be their leper if that's what they want. Take 'em, they're yours. But I want out. I want OUT.


It's my birthday tomorrow. And all I want is to make my own present, make my own luck. No more wishing, grabby, grasping, greedy, hoping, hot, itchy, keen, longing, lustful dreams. Just what is and what will be. And all built on a foundation of stone. Asphalt kisses on souls of the earth. Solid, you fuckers. Solid.

Hope yours was a happy one.



  1. happy birthday for tomorrow Mr B.

    Another one of those slippery sea goats to add to the collection, it's mine on Monday. I think I have half of what I wanted already... and will be unpacking boxes in my new house to prove it.


  2. happy birthday for the 5th, goat boy. x

  3. Today is a good day to have been born 34 years ago. Well done.

    Lick something tasty to celebrate.

  4. "How completely fortuitous," says the black tie living room couch professor.

    a) The Pythagoreans called it the perfect number, 3 and 4, the triangle and the square, the perfect figures

    b) When Inanna the Queen of Heaven (the major love, fertility, and war goddess of the Sumerians) descended into Hell, she was forced to pass through seven gates, at each of which she was required to remove one of her garments, until she stood before her sister Erishkigal the Queen of the Underworld, naked and defenseless. She was then struck dead by seven plagues. Later, upon her return from Hell, she passed though the same seven gates, at each of which she resumed one of her garments.

    Which makes it all round good to be 34 or (3+4).

    Happy Birthday.

    Now, where are the hi-balls and grad students hiding?