probably i'm still drunk

because i was two hours ago and we seem to be going round or possibly making this habit or of course maybe it's that the only way to travel, the only way to get myself on that plane and go willingly more or less into the nexus of my distress is to be hungover and eating hash browns. 


because there is nothing like being horrifically drunk on jameson and ginger soda with friends you can be an asshole with and who will put you to bed so you can get a two-hour nap before driving in the rain to the airport, and my god, everywhere i go these days i am afraid i will see someone i know. this town is getting too small for the both of us, you know. in my head we agreed to me on the east side and you the west but i don't trust you that much, i just can't, you've got all that fame and fortune now and has it gotten into your brain yet, have you become what you hate? or maybe i am seeing shadows from a past life, shadows of the dead, my own dead face mirrored back at me in the glare of the sun, in these long dawn shadows that make my step unsteady and thin. 

residual drunkenness dulls the panic to a low din. or maybe i'm still drunk? well. it's eight days starting now. i am going to try to find strength in brain-deadness, in vague floating passivity and dismissal. i have the appropriate medications and aloofness, i have the appropriate excuses. i am properly coldhearted. i am going to try to find strength in you, so please, please tell me everything you know and maybe what you don't too, all right? stay with me. we are stronger than we would ever care to admit and strangely there is rebellious strength in this.