Sunday, June 26, 2005

I hate people when they're not polite

Staggering, drooling, dripping, face melting. Finished the cab. Finished the job. Finished just about nothing. Saw the hole in my jacket, felt the hole and put my finger through it. Tasted the ash, the dry throated affirmation. Pull over here. Walked in and gave up. Rejected. Not another negative answer. No more dates. No more asking these beautiful somethings out for a "drink" and no more of these actresses and this visitor thing, too many visitors. Please not another group of visitors. And realizing what I am, no more of that. There is no more recognition. There is no need. There is only the karaoke bar and the residual feelings, the memory that won't last much longer. The monkey escaped the cage again. The lights, crowd, egos and coolness. And yes, the Talking Heads. And my rendition thereof. Eccentric standing swim pose. Leg kick. Making it happen. Acting the oddling fool. I am tired. I am flesh puppet.

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