Secret Pain and the Aura of Technical Perfection:Notes From The Great Alone

thunder and fire in the sky, i see it there circling, crackling, while fingering the rim of my shotglass, turning out my drug induced fascinations, answering no questions, gliding down the stairs and to the ground, down further still to the moist fetters of obligatory swabber.

wind howling scatter, crack, bits of rock, small bites of pain, tragic injured bitter loss and gain, in flurry and plunder, my head split and kicked aside--my secrets bleeding, ambiguous but mine. in glorious anger, with resentment, interest lost and then ignored i exposed my appointment with the fire in the sky, lit my pipe and let it ride.

once back inside of the outside of my mind, oblivious to scorn, taking no heed the confidence tattered, torn. from ineffectual emotion clawed and worn--before i had the chance to mutter clever answers or frowzy contradictions, i was knocked askew by one who thought he knew be better.

balance lost and logic unhinged i stood before the mirror, dilated pupils, dispassionate tears--unattractive times, a good reason to justify lies. soured and remote, impenetrably veiled, i stood my squalid ground--undaunted, brave little junkie, learning quick shooting new logic from rig to straw, being careful not to hotshot my chance to fill completely my artificial void of hysterical impulse.

reality ignites, i lay bleeding beneath a perfect sky, proud of the volume now required to to move me, interest me, animate me--knowing everything, understanding nothing, clinging to debris, i was not as clever as i'd hoped to be--bruised and diminishing, power undermined, strength abruptly drained, dots of brilliant lights fished their way across my brain--no god, reason, no pride, could keep me from enjoying my precious pain.

burried alive beneath needles and vials, not one regret, not one smile, thunder and fire in the sky, in the drain, of an Arizona bathtub my dreams running down, with the filth, sweat, cum, humiliation and shame, with the solutioin to my problems raging through my veins. i watched for weeks the faces of despotic, lunatic men tortured and pale in the light of day--watched their women become paultry and weak, from cruel, thin, cracked lips did they from time to time speak--sweating through transition.

bitten and blamed, fucked and stifled, too high to complain, beaten down slowly until nothing remained--slim, grey figures that barely moved beneath the sheets cast a grim shadow that would rise and then fall, just beyond the bedroom walls, shadows and reflections pale as the moon, seeing our disfigured features in the well of the spoon, living and twitcing through the crust of despair, pulling out patches of our dull, brittle hair--the cost, measured and mixed with affliction and blood, loving the hate, stammer, then deny, offensive and spent, too weak to fix, too strong not to try.