a familiar duel
My desk is cluttered, word documents dominate the left side of my screen, a hollowed bottle of wine sits to my right and a bottle of water to my left; this is the kind of weekday solitude I chase. Tonight the soothing knuckles of Bibio dig into my shoulders as I lean forward in my chair. It is the familiar clash of the titans this evening: Loneliness versus Independence in a fight to the death. The marquee is lit up like an addict stumbling upon a fifty dollar bill. I’ve made my bets, have you?
lounging in limbo
Friday night in the kingdom of doom we sit watching the jets fly by, leaving that beautiful trace of green across the mellow orange sky. Just when we thought we had it all figured out, he drops into our lives and shakes it up. What we didn’t predict was a change for the better, a spontaneous kick in the ass leaving us puckering our lips for more. You're twenty thousand feet above the Atlantic right now and I am blowing my nose into a hanky, cursing my responsibilities. I flip through the words of Miller begging for a word-- half a sentence, anything to spice up the stale bedroom air of a Tuesday night in July… Yes, the characters go around with microphones in their trousers. Perfectly irrelevant for my current mood. The wine is just about finished and I am pleased; a tasty Cabernet I have never laid my lips on. The grapes will carry me through the night and I will lay on my stomach dreaming of nonsense. I will wake up scowling at my alarm, frantically sculpting an absurd reason to call in sick. But I will rise from sleep, stagger into the shower, and greet my friend on the porch with a muffled good morning, crusty eyes and all.