the art of digging impressively large holes (and why i now use bait)

May 21, 2008

there is the taste of mild beer in my mouth, and i intend to smother it with a well-intentioned coffee.  that and cigarrettes.  but i’m still thirsty.  desperately so.  the alcohol hits a spot with me tonight that i doubt much else could.

i’ve been a little out of my head the past couple of days.

i’ve been feeling, well. . . strange.  not an unfamiliar sense of strange mind you, for i’m more than used to this by now, but it’s an highly unusual sort of place to be in (or not be in honestly).  it’s anticipatory without expectations and brooding without thought.  it’s tense muscles and exhaustion and dissapointment and confusion.  it’s the muscle tension release and manic energy and satisfaction and more disorientation.  rife with distraction, it is pressure building and a refusal to acknowledge.

it’s been me killing mice.  and it’s been me feeling terrible about killing mice.  i keep breaking my heart over bloodied traps and rigor-mortis.  it isn’t so bad when the necks have been broken, but a trap sprung with no bait and a soft, white belly with arms raised in an affectation of fear. . . it’s been the remembrance of the time i realized i was a mouse.

it’s been me with a remote sense of guilt; me with a remote sense of having been manipulated yet again. and me busy trying not being concerned with it.

it’s been me amazed at the progression of days.

it’s been me absently noting the frightful increases in numbers on signs and printed paper.  it’s been me with those tinglings of fear running through my soles to my fibulas, tibias, patellas, femurs, all the way through the spine, creating minor explosions in my skull, causing headaches.  it’s been me taking aspirin as a poor sedative.  it’s been me aware of the pain that ceases, but afraid of those numbers that remain.

it’s been me running, running, running and the affectation of breathlessness.

it’s me misunderstanding myself.  that and understanding myself too well.


it’s me making a livelihood of digging impressively large holes.


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