(no subject)

Aug 02, 2004 02:25

minus one headlight, under the influence. she can barely see past and over her steering wheel. "old people shouldn't be allowed to drive," they should be shipped to a foreign country, where they'll be a lot more respected. a soccer mom and a purple minivan, automatic doors. the car in front of me has christianity stickers on it. a man biking down the street in his work clothes because of the police and because of the ruling, because of the DUI. this isn't normal, not at 1:43 AM. maybe it's daytime, maybe it's twelve hours later, "but that guy is going to be super early, the shift change isn't for a while." maybe i don't know, the sun in my eyes is ripe. this water is stale and i'm sick of sociability. i'm all mixed up. my record player is breaking. no one carries any good collections anyways. i'm leaving soon, jeremy's leaving soon, but he won't be back, at least not for a while. this summer is mediocre. it's another venue with shitty bands with no feeling trying to do the same thing, or walking around in a mass confusion of other people searching for their party, avoiding the shove-it-up-your-ass flyer distributors about and including threats to escape burning in hell and how to get saved. If only...if only I hadn't fucked that prostitute in Tijuana, things wouldn't have turned out this way. If only...I wouldn't be burning in "Hell." If only I could let go of my lisp and stop lieing and faking. I should start holding my breath until I pass out, to gain some attention, then when i'm staggering for air, that oxygen, that polluted maintream, grabbing onto the grapevine, people will turn their heads and look at me, fumbling my sentences into strange structure with a number of grammatical errors and mumbling, so focused on that, that they won't be able to hear what i want to say, and before i get it out, she, they all, every single one of them, fucking cliches, would have kissed me and ripped out my tongue, to spit shrapnel down my throat. They're the air escaping my system, and the smoke flowing straight through my blood, to promote a wrath on my already poor-status back. but i love her, and i love the pain. i love wet cartilage, i love ripe fruit. i like the way summer night heat feels, as long as it isn't too fucking humid outside. and these reunions, these reunions with the pasts and the almosts and the rebounds and freethrows and everything else i don't fucking know about other than knowing how awkward feelings can become, and when you start to get a sensation out of it, you say something really fucking stupid that will piss somebody off, of just make things worse in all--...with the end of the night, i've regained conciousness, and granted, fortunetly, i started saying things in a tone that might not be too enthusiastic--excuse me, i have to piss into your flower garden--she smiles and tells me to call her, after i make a poor, subtle pass. i'm starting to remember how this feels.
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