| 2:48 a.m. | what strange words | 2004-03-26 |
| Reaped | what strange words what strange words start to happen at 2 oclock in the morning. tonight was not unparalleled per se, but it was up there. no 5eale in the first place, Comps (the library equivalent of the indian ritual of finding your spiriti guide or whatever) will call you away when it can. secondly, durgs, of the speedy type, coming out various peoples crevices (& into another, so to speak). finally, the dj booth. lets have a big frustrated sigh on that one. i'm leavin', i'm wavin' goodbye, mr dj's making all these 'yer breakin my heart' hand motions, so i open the door to da booth...and he's mackin' on some other chick! Suck. Shut the door before anyone notices. Walk dejectedly to the car. Observe the crushed spirits of this poor vixen, who indeed looks extremely tempting in her sparkly red v neck camisole. Granted, the chick was a hottie, & I'm just a playa, but it still sucked. I was looking forward to whatever I was looking forward too. Anyway. Coherence is lacking tonight,. What do you want, it's 2 fucking 30 in the morning. & i'm workin & driving tomorrow. but i had to vent. need to vent. mebbe it's just the you-know-whats. maybe it's this freakn crush that won't quit. Maybe its that tonight marked a rare appearance, the playa, the charlatan, the CABBIE. In a rip off adidas track suit. "I'm russian mafia tonight" he said. "but you need a wallet-purse" i replied. "so how ya been?" i asked. bit my tongue about certain things. "horrible. How bout you?" heh. heh. He begged me not to kick his ass. I pretended to anyway. Then he asked, "can i email you??" i'm thinkin', no! but, yeah. but NO! but...i created an evil profile of you on friendster. sorry. but yeah. email. me. it's cool. it's fun. (this is what durgs'll do to ya. Just sayin'.) The shitty part is, it's been so long, & now i can barely remember looking him in the eye, the oozing suave lassez faire sexiness that i managed to pull off. damn. wanted to remember that. IF it did happen & why'd i say he could? fuck. & the friggin dj. damn great timing there. way to blow shit outta proportion . & so to tomorrow. escapism. seeing stars instead of a toxic orange glow.. killing a bottle of fine scotch in front of a welcoming fire. .. what more is there to ask? |
Sown |
| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
Profile
Guestbook D-land Older Home 26 Links
Bandified
|
|
| � | � | |