Onward and Upward to the Maudlin
Pour out the dregs of the bottle, light a cigarette, light a candle. Lie prone on the sheets, arrange your limbs, gather your wits from agog. Remain not aggrieved, for your chances of a fine romp in the straw are as forthcoming as our Feckless Leader buggering a cockeral on Fox News.
Which is sad, sad, indeed.
Sediment settles in the glass, smoke pools on the ceiling, the night is still young, sleep gathers.
Thirty-three years old, an empty bed spanning miles and miles of sheets, a chartered heart, a sextet, a compass, a field for ripe tilling, a field fallow for fodder.
and the wine is always running out, and there is no more money and so we beg by the East transept... but we don't, only in our fecund imagination.
What is real:
We four women, clad in black, two in broaches, two in scarves, two baring cleavage, one birthday girl. It it New Year's Eve, the year is gasping towards it's end, only to be reborn as a phoenix rising as only Time can. And as it exhales it's final breaths we are happily ordering vodka and soda's, but the bartender doesn't know us so well and her pours are meager and unsatisfying.
We arrive at the party, we are clearly over dressed, but it matters not, as there are two cases of Perrier Jouet to be tackled as only a broad of a certain caliber can tackle. And we did. With Zeal.
And as I previously alluded to, I did indeed get that coveted bump, and my companion in illicit substances set about mastering chopsticks on the piano in the corner. At some point I flitted onto the roof, in heels, under the rain, to watch the death of 2004 mourned in the bright firework colors of the sweet meth drenched passing of 'ought four to 'ought five. And there on the rooftop, under the light rain, with a gracious gentlemen named Spike, I was certain that I had never seen anything quite so profound, and he set his hands on my shoulders and said, look out, look there, it's a brand new year. Then again, it could have been the drugs. Suddenly I wasn't myself, suddenly I was talking to myself in the bathtub, suddenly I realized that the umbrella I in my possession was not my own, suddenly I awoke from my waking dreams with a scarlet headache and thus I welcomed the New Year.
Pour out the dregs of the bottle, light a cigarette, light a candle. Lie prone on the sheets, arrange your limbs, gather your wits from agog. Remain not aggrieved, for your chances of a fine romp in the straw are as forthcoming as our Feckless Leader buggering a cockeral on Fox News.
Which is sad, sad, indeed.
Sediment settles in the glass, smoke pools on the ceiling, the night is still young, sleep gathers.
Thirty-three years old, an empty bed spanning miles and miles of sheets, a chartered heart, a sextet, a compass, a field for ripe tilling, a field fallow for fodder.
and the wine is always running out, and there is no more money and so we beg by the East transept... but we don't, only in our fecund imagination.
What is real:
We four women, clad in black, two in broaches, two in scarves, two baring cleavage, one birthday girl. It it New Year's Eve, the year is gasping towards it's end, only to be reborn as a phoenix rising as only Time can. And as it exhales it's final breaths we are happily ordering vodka and soda's, but the bartender doesn't know us so well and her pours are meager and unsatisfying.
We arrive at the party, we are clearly over dressed, but it matters not, as there are two cases of Perrier Jouet to be tackled as only a broad of a certain caliber can tackle. And we did. With Zeal.
And as I previously alluded to, I did indeed get that coveted bump, and my companion in illicit substances set about mastering chopsticks on the piano in the corner. At some point I flitted onto the roof, in heels, under the rain, to watch the death of 2004 mourned in the bright firework colors of the sweet meth drenched passing of 'ought four to 'ought five. And there on the rooftop, under the light rain, with a gracious gentlemen named Spike, I was certain that I had never seen anything quite so profound, and he set his hands on my shoulders and said, look out, look there, it's a brand new year. Then again, it could have been the drugs. Suddenly I wasn't myself, suddenly I was talking to myself in the bathtub, suddenly I realized that the umbrella I in my possession was not my own, suddenly I awoke from my waking dreams with a scarlet headache and thus I welcomed the New Year.
posted by emma at
11:47 PM
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