2004-10-23 - 6:10 p.m.
Dusty wine glass stained red for effect. Four heart shaped cubes and enough code red to fill a jock strap. One part grain and four parts devil, to think that she hasn't even gotten in the shower yet. From right now, I'm having trouble seeing where I'll be in 60 x 60 ticks to right now. The elevators hum mixed with the passing of outdated trains makes for an interesting sleep pattern when we're already dreaming. Sleep - Wake - Sleep - Wake - Fall - Sleep - Wake - Climb - Sleep - Dream. Orchastrated in 4/4 time, her "sheeps as white as snow" have never lept so slow. Counting down the hours and minutes till I once again have to take responsibility for my actions passes much too quickly for the feet of those little sheep. But then, why the rush? If they are unable to keep time, why must it pass so quickly? Niether here nor there, soon enough I'll be smiling, sprawled across a three by five bedframe midst three sleeping women who's age only surpasses mine in numbers. Ring a ding ding, back and down around again. What exactly I am saying can be comparable to the peacher who knows not whom hes touching. This is my mind everytime. This world of thoughts and excuses for others, no matter whos side their presenting. The joy I can't help but find in the simplest things can't even compare to the turmoil in which it's saturated in. A sip for now, a sip for later. We're as loose as our lips allow us to be. Somewhere after that, our mind will follow (but not very closely). Excuse me, what was I saying dear heart? One sip for now... and another for later?
What is when and how is now supposed to affect anything? We'll never know how we're doing until we're compared to those around us. The scoreboard told me first but your words slap me unqualified... unqualified.... Underqualified? I'm just beginning to read "not applicable". As if I never tried in the first place. Take these lazy drawn out words with a grain of salt because that's how heavy I weigh them. Actually, I couldn't even tell you their weight, much less their worth. Weigh them on experience and piece of mind... oh, and how you're feeling at the time. Seemingly enough, it's been working surprisingly well for myself.
With or without, we'll never be singing. Singing in the rain, singing with Broadway, singing in pain. There is not pain in singing. Even in those whom generate it the most. There is attention with songs of pain. There is redepmption in songs of pain. There is hope in songs of pain. There are ears for songs of pain. So why sing when angry? Our strongest demons can't keep us down when the currents uplifted. When the alcohol is flowing, when the whispers are shouted and when the lepers are loved
