drinking since 7.30
bowled while drinking more
the people we bowled with were quite nice.
I write this now, slack jawed and dumb, wondering about the true nature of love and life, and wondering if true love has anything to do with the sligh case of indigestion that i am experiencing.
My mouth is dry
the words of an indecipherable beat poet run through my head, but the poet was on SNL, so not real, but does it matter in the long run?
The truths that flow from the mouths of my friends are quite funny in retrospect, and really, have nothing to do with what i am thinking now.
I have a mission for tomorrow
I smile stupidly at an Im i get that i incorrectly respond to.
My spelling is abhorrent.
but i persist in this state
i am careful about the typing i do now
i gaze at the screen like a madman, wanting something to come from it, but knowing that ultimately nothing will
i know deep down inside that i am typing apart from my corporal being, and what i write right now has something to do with that lovely part of my brain that is pure and untouched by the taint of alcohol, by the tobacco, by anything and everything at all, and that deep down in this portion of me, there is the truth about everything at all, and as my fingers glide gently over my keyboard, clittery clattery, I uncover that part of me.
but i like secrets
i like keeping them from you
i like having mystery
I will tell you someday.
take care, and to you, I will talk in the morn, full of joy over the previous night
or a killer hangover
of which i know nothing
but hope
to
find
nothing out

-ccm