Start and Stop

I shouldn't be doing this. Drinking again. Hard. The fifth of vodka that I didn't finish yesterday is just about done. What's in my glass is all that I've got. Of course, I have a bottle of gin next to my foot and some wine. Plenty of beer. I need to go to sleep. The vodka. I have managed to waste two hours. Unwind, I tell myself. I got home from work around 2:30 am. Fuck. What am I writing? Who gives a shit. Do any of us really give a shit. When it's 4:15 am, I should be sleeping. Bars are still open, though. Oh fuck. Just kill it.

It’s all a flood
A blood flood
In dream
And forced memory
Suddenly
I stroke
On every corner
Remembering
Every hand
I held
Crossed a street with
And last glimpse
Of shoulder
Before I passed
Out
All lips are lost
I bite my fist
And gulp beer
For breakfast
And when I can’t remember
I stop
And ask myself
What happened that time?
And that time?
And at that moment?
The beginning is vague
And the end
Never existed
Just woke up
And drank beer
For breakfast
And said
I guess it’s all gone
And then I shower
And sleep again
And wake up
And say
Fuck it
Forget the shoulders
And the lips
The skin and
The hair
And the sweat
Walk to the corner
Stand by the mailbox
And remember
I have no letters
To send
And nothing to
Receive
The cat meows
While I reach for
Another beer
I know I know
I said I wouldn’t
Do this
Light a cigarette
The cat looks at me
And looks away
In disgust
I know
I know
I said I wouldn’ t
Do this either
The goddamned sun
Breaks through the clouds
For a second
I know!
I know!

I sit in bed and sip
Hips
Lips
Shoulders
And backs
And hair
And curves
Gone
Just my ugly self
In this bed
Drinking
Looking at the cats
Sideways
As they peer
At me
Then yawn and look
Away
I’m a rerun
My shit has been
Syndicated
Within these
Walls
And beneath
These sheets
Repeating
Over and over
Coffee won’t
Bring it
Orgasm
Won’t bring
It
The sun
Won’t
Bring it
A fucking cheeseburger
Won’t bring it
Nothing shows up
When in need
But there is no need
Here

No hips
No lips
No tits
No shoulders
No hair
No breathing
No life

Fuck it
Music and drink
Stink
And then silence
Turn the shower
On
Don’t get in
Sit on the toilet
And
Pretend it’s raining

It’s raining

Six Martini Cool Out

My limbs are falling asleep before my brain does. My balls are vibrating. I'm smoking even though I quit. It's cold and the heat that is manufactured is dry, drying my blood, making it stick to my veins. I am swelling and stiffening. I am a cold walking corpse with a slow beating heart. I am mummifying. I am losing blood and drinking plasma. Plasma being vodka chilled from martini glass.
Winter. Fuck it all. I will make a seventh martini.

For Panda

I laugh when my balls hurt. I laugh after I finish my 3rd martini. I laugh when I wake up, not dead. Somehow I avoided the bullet, the rope, the knife. I laugh when I am Moe and slip on the ghost of a banana peel and throw my back out and crawl toward another drink. I am laughing at myself. I see myself through the eye of a surveillance camera. I am drunk, retarded and reaching for a book. I am reaching for an answer, a burrito, and at clouds. Sun, don't shine on me today. Sky sheets.
I laugh at myself, I have to. No ego. I am asshole supreme.
Yeah. That's it. I put a bucket on my head and hail taxis and wait to get hit by one. I get hit. Someone decides to call the morgue. I get picked up by a hearse. Cut out the middle man. Don't need the hospital. Insurance doesn't cover cremation. Pour my ashes into a half empty bottle of whiskey and use it as target practice.
Three assholes walk into a bar and the bartender pours me into glasses from a bottle he found near the sewer. I reform, break out of the glass and grow. Fuck. I am a man again. Regeneration.
Give me a bottle with a neck wide enough that I can dive back in.
January is dead.

Fuckin' 2009

Godfuckingdamnit. So it finally decided to show it's ugly face complete with asshole mouth, the year 2009 is here. Finally, really. 2008 sucked such balls it's hard to believe. Maybe 2008 was alright for some people. And ultimately Obama got the nod so that part was good but man, I fucking wasted that year like drinking a bottle of Basil Hayden's like it was water, never tasted it. In 2008 I drank and I slept and I formed excuses as to why it was okay to do those things. Sure, I worked. I showed up hungover and then get hammered the second after I punched out, sometimes earlier...shhh. I went to some baseball games and released 2 records but what the fuck. I still don't feel like I did shit with the year. I spent some time going to see doctors for my knees and wrist. The pain of 2008 has carried over into 2009 and it fucking sucks. I joined a gym in 2008. I didn't go once. Two days into 2009 and I got my first cold in a long time. It was because I didn't drink for two days. If by a second day of not drinking I don't have a sip, I get sick, happens everytime. I didn't drink for 3 days. Now I'm having a little Jack, neat to hammer away at the little fuckers fucking up my system. Booze is like my forcefield.
Alright, well, I don't feel like writing anymore. Let's see what happens in 2009. Probably nothing but more shit.