scoring

[omgomgomgandy]

It's three in the morning and you're at this party, on the Lower East Side, high above Stanton street, in one of those artists' lofts that you read about in New York magazine with every model and eccentric erudite in Manhattan who just happen to be offering you everything from E to Cristal mimosas. What do you do? Right! you ingest, ingest, ingest. so come sunrise, when you can't fuck, or even say, talk, and your pupils are on permanent strobe effect, a few bong hits don't seem like such a terribly bad idea. But later, at the office, you're shaking like Los Angeles during the Big One, and decide to head home a little early. you're in bed by noon and it's just not working out. you're exhausted but doing somersaults in the sheets. your brain is in the mood to exercise. you can't stop thinking. so as the soupy afternoon settles into a starless night, as the hours trudge away, you try a  few things to calm down. reading- all those words. television- all those expensive teeth. radio- all those djs. phone call- all those answering machines. email- all those fowards. whip out some gourmet masterpeice in the kitchen- all those empty cupboards. bike ride- all that snow. laundry- all that dirt. meditate- all the impossibility. pray- all the nothingness. masturbate- all that work. more drugs- Hey. wait a minute. Drugs? drugs. that's not a bad idea. why didn't you think of that before? what, though? everyone you know will just have poisonous hallucinations or volcanic amphetamines. you need barbiturates. two blue beauties and a tall glass of ice water. good clean pharmeceuticals to slow things down. you're freaking out! six blocks away is Colombia Medical. You can do it. you look in the mirror, a quick run through the likely interrogative stumbling blocks- give it your best shot! let's go! and so you go. And so i went.

i read this paragraph more times than i can count
i missed falling in love with books
im glad i have this feeling again