When I drank more

I wrote some interesting shit:



"they say whiskey cures any ailment, honey."
she said it in a southern drawl with tight jeans, elvis belt buckle, white wife-beater, and a straw hat. god she was gorgeous.

"you know it ain't helpin' to smoke while you've got the croup."
she leaned back and forth in the rocker, white dressing gown with lace around the neck, her bony, veiny fingers clutching a slim cigarette.

i got up from the couch and sweat dripped down from my armpits. well, if i can't breathe now, it won't be any better later. i got the laundry basket together with quarters in my back pocket. i heard the music first then the screech of tires stopping outside my window. i bet it's romeo. he knocks on the door instead of bellowing his wild hollar from the alley (must be on his meds again).

"just one drink, lolita, come on..."
"i can't. i just can't. i'm too sick. i've got star wars raging in my lungs and jabba the hut in my head."

whiskey.
it came back to whiskey.
gold rush at my finger tips. they did find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and they put it in a bottle and called it maker's mark. saint mark of makers. there's a macon georgia. is there a makers tennessee?

what don't kill ya, only makes ya stronger. or more numb.

i've been on fire all day. fevers make me horny. sex on LSD - sex with a fever. it's all surreal. each fingertip laid here, resonates a pool of water there. each kiss of lips like burning comets. sweat it out. bundle up and take hot showers. eat spicy, hot soup in the middle of an 80F day.

i put the alphabet soup and crackers to the side of the bed and stretch my legs out and apart. even my fingers are like hot iron about to brand the pink nubbin.

closed eyes and martians appear. cars going too fast rear-ending each other. "you should have just taken it." batteries running out with their juice spilling to the ground. a tick tick tick of a heart pacer. white sands blowing below my body, as strands of my hair fly off to the side. all the naked bodies. "do you want to play?" "no." "i'm picky and you're my type."

i'm fast asleep before i get there.

someone likes the "eighties, nineties, and today" music up on full volume so i wake to the charlie brown theme song. i almost have to peel my naked body from the sheet. it must be a hundred degrees inside and outside my body.

if i can't stop thinking about him, will he never go away?

it's that pleasure place between awake and dead. red face, deep lines, horns, glowing eyes, a tail that wraps around his arm over and over again. an asymetrical pool of jizz in front of a computer with my photo on the screen. shrine. sacrifice. worship. just touch me. just touch.

if it ain't gonna cure me, it'll tie me over until i get a cure. pour a glass. i'll drink it straight. kill all the bugs in my body. raise the fever. i'm hallucinating again.

if i hit my head and died it would take 4 days for my body to start stinking up the place (in this heat at least). who would find me first? not the family, so disconnected. not the co-workers, so patient. not the lovers, so restrained. it'd have to be a neighbor. the next-door neighbor. "hey," pound pound. "hey, it stinks. are you home or what?"

ahhhh and now the rain... the rain outside... i'll go dance in the rain. drench, wash, cool, soak.

shit, need another glass of whiskey first.

7/20/2003