Another Another
2010-05-04 12:44 a.m.
Miles Davis - Kind of Blue, a bottle of Jack and a glass of ice. Pretty low today. It didn't hit me until about an hour ago. Played out a scenario in my head where I ask my most recent lost cause (the bartender) to pick a city. Yes, That "pick a city."I know we won't work. One of those things where, were I in a different place we'd probably work well for a while until we got a really good look at each other and realized it wouldn't. But I don't have the patience to entertain. And unfortunately all I need to do in this case is entertain.
I'm boring. Because I'm bored.
Fuck entertainment. In all forms. I want pain and destruction and masochism and stinky sweaty passion and mutual respect and comfortable silence and... well... fuck. Who the fuck knows? All those things have to come together somewhere, right? Go ahead and answer - you know as well as I do.
Just another restaurant. Another bar. Another barbecue. Another conversation. Another walk. Another phone call. Another text message. Another drink. Another and another and another and why not another? Just one more. Who's it going to hurt? Just floating... dangling my toes out of the water in the shallow end hoping someone does a cannonball. Move me. I'll just float here, staring at the sky trying to keep the water out of my nose and you provide the explosion that chokes me and makes me stand up and maybe - most likely - dive into deep end with you.
I deserve one. Yes, the word I abhore most. I'm the weird fucker that sparked plenty a flame. Spark mine. I promise it won't take much. Bring me some aeresol and I'll hand you my trusy zippo. Let's light this whole motherfucker and bleed into the embers. Let's cry and scream and laugh and gnaw raw bloody meat from the beasts within.
Days like this that I feel so fucking far away. Completely intractable.
I'm so fucking subdued these days. Taciturn. Surprise is but a distant memory. I sit across from a gorgeous woman who needs nothing more than a bit of sarcasm and a touch of charm and I'm bored. Inspire me, god damnit. Scrape away a bit of your armor and let the shavings fall in my lap. I can forge a golden rose from a few shavings and any scraps of metal you can spare.
---
By the way, it's not the woman. That's the problem, actually - that this isn't about her. Another another, except I was a bit more hopeful this time that it wasn't another another.