Whew... i'm tanking tonight! Perhaps i haven't eaten all that well, and perhaps it has something to do with the fact i haven't left the house at all today, but either way, dude, i'm fucking zonked out, big time. See, normally, on any given Sunday, i'd totally go prancing around town, making general merriment hither and yon and causing all sorts of satanic mayhem. Alas, Derrick Heib came out for a visit last night at heather's folks' place, and he decided to get a little rambunctious at one point and tripped up the stairs. Mind you, that's a bit of a feat, since there's only two stairs in the entire place. Two. Not like two staircases, or two flights of stairs, but two single fucking steps - and i biffed it, somehow, going up said stairs whilst in the fury of a drunken leer down the hallway. Evidently a full bottle of wine, a fairly strong Admiral Nelson's coke (let's hear it for ghetto coconut rum!!), and a hot-100 hot'n'tot will do that to a Goat.

So... once again, my inherent grace fails me and i've landed myself with a twisted ankle.

It's not really all that bad, but it does hurt like a bitch when i'm walking around; so hence the injury i've decided to take a breather and chill out at home today. I did keep myself productive, though, and did a few hours of work, cleaning up the code for my program at work (which, mind you, gets installed Tuesday afternoon in Dickinson - that should be interesting!). I also napped, which is always kick-ass, and talked to zanny and the lobster, which is always kick-ass as well.

Then i found myself fiending to write. Thing is, i feel real fucking looped out, and in pain from my damned casualty of war, so to speak, so the writing just wouldn't come - and it pissed me off! I hate how your body will get in the way sometimes and block what you want to do. Such as write, or go out and be active (incidentally i also felt a strong desire to go mountain biking today, but that was obviously cut... grr!). What i was able to write, however, touched on that feeling - that feeling of desparation, hopelessly ruled by forces somewhat out of our control - pain and spaciness.

Now, yeah, of course i didn't have to get trashed beyond all belief and fall up the only two fucking stairs in the entire house, but hey - it was fun! (the partying part, not the twisting of the ankle and resultant icing via mixed vegetables.)

I'm going to go score some chow, ah reckon, since perhaps that will get me back into the world of the living. Have a fine rest of the evening, reader, and when you slip beneath the covers this night, dream sweetly.

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beneath the cloth

11/7/04

steal this shroud from my face
that veils my thoughts from my fingers
and drains my smiles through the
open hole of my pain, that
gaping void which drinks my tears
like a parched camel dying in the sand

grasp it and bid me feel!

because I’m lost again
in one of those elusive hideaways
where the body lets you know
it’s still around –
where mortality opens its eyes
takes a breath
and screams like a newborn babe
leaving you helpless in welcoming the pain

with arms tightly closed
and a face set in iron we greet it –
behold the cunning visitor that whisks away
our tragedy and comedy!
mark how it wraps its icy travelling-salesman fingers
around your gut, twisting
sending the ache sliding up your spine
in drops of sticky fire
and see with eyes wild
how it so easily trades places,
leaving your mind outside on the stoop
as it steps into your home’s evening glow
alas, left to weather another night
under the stars abandoned