thejesus

i can't fucking see. normally when i'm drunk i lack focus, defintion, but tonight it appears that i'm completely fucking blind. 9, 10, 12...i hate these nights of a few beers that turn into yelled admissions of slobbering dozens. fuck. fumble. lighter. fumble. cigarettes. fumble. cigarette dropped. bend to pick it up...tip..whoa...whoa...over i go and brace -- smack -- hands first and wrists buckle. thank fuck it's not raining. laughing, i hear laughing...ha ha...laugh you bastards, this as easily could be you thick from booze and heart break and good conversation and fuck fuck fuck why can't i control numbers? why doesn't the math add to me functioning like a normal human?

ok, it's lit. think. no buses. pockets. no money so no cab. phone fiance. wait, she left tonight...a bare utterance of my inadequacy on many fronts, slam and gone with nothing left but me to think and cry and fume. so fuck. fuck her and her false sense of maturity and direction. bitch. stumble, break...brace, hand on window for balance...stop spinning, for fuck's sake! stop this rotation, this endless spin around spin of us around sun through galaxy into universe...i can feel the axis as i lean the opposite way and work to correct this celestial misjudgement.

no direction. lack of goals. my ass. we all live in accordance with slumps. maybe i should talk about her pathetic intentions, lack of stress management, passing the piss bucket for me to spill and stink everything up. yeah, let's talk about that missy, hey? bah. fuck, where am i? look up...blurring, spinning pin pricks. the bright one is the north star. be a man, dammit, navigate! if it's above me, i'm below it. got it. bearings locked. forward.

sand. what? fuck, why is there sand on my face? because i'm lying in it. i want to move, to lift my head, but gravity, fucking gravity, has inexplicably multiplied a thousand fold and i'm sucked down pasted drooling into fucking sand. but it's not so bad. comfortable, better cold sand than a cold bed beside a cold body drawn even colder by circumstance. bag as a pillow. not so lumpy. voices. fuck you, fuck you all. i'm a citizen, dammit, a taxpayer and this beach is as much mine as yours, especially now; now that these grains feel closer to home than anything. feel smooth and soft and don't ask me to be anything other than an opposing force, down to up. my inevitable loose grasp on gravity that constantly pulls and pushes and, with my hand tucked between my knees for comfort, asks me only to obey laws that exist without my qualification.

as the beer did flow down and the alcohol did flow down and my feet moved down and my body once in motion moved down and i and i and i myself moved down in a relentless twist and yeah and yeah and yeah like everyone, i'm just accepting gravity.