Pulchritude

Beautiful, without sarcasm. Anomalous per its underrepresented rite. Conviction, despite ineligibility to reciprocate. Warmth in its immediacy, disheveling upon effectuation. Genuine. Understanding, despite superfluous ignorance. Words unspoken, now unwritten. Gratitude for the spell, regret with its passing. Vague with recollection, lucid before the opportunity, owing of the want to reminisce. Palpitating.

Enviable, pure as the moment allows. Discreet to the individual, despite the seeming collective disregard. Chivalrous sans intent. The pursuit. Happiness defined in the short term. A respite, deserving after such toil. Crimson is attractive, regardless of desire. Look. Oh, to revel in the nondescript! To enjoy is to sacrifice, a welcome contradiction. Relative only to those who find it to be so. An inspired endeavor, coveting the inevitable loss. But only to remember. The slow gaze brings the welcome reward of acquaintance.  

And so too does beauty yet abound.

Simple

I am writing this now, because to do so otherwise would be to detract from the truth inherent in my immediate drunkenness. And you all deserve better than procrastination. If not, then I at least do.

Shit. I need to start drinking whisky again. It’s been damn near five years since I left Europe, yet somehow the taste of vodka remains my staple. Is it normal to step away from the pad to suck down some smoke? Sure, I guess if I don’t know what to say right then. Or right now!

At least I have my music. Some magician invented the random feature. Thank you. For I too, am random. The song ends abruptly. But it is not an accident, by design, or just ‘cuz. You can’t see it, but the words on the pad are bigger than the last. A consequence of inebriation, I suppose. Hell, I’ll be lucky to decipher this scratch to post.

God damn! How important is music? If only I could affect someone as it does me. Sorry, I just have to dance…alone in the garage. I momentarily had to think about not publishing this, due to my being drunk. But then I realized that I really don’t give a shit what you think. Mostly because in this moment I still am me.

Am I better than this? No. I am this. Take from it what you will. Damn, I love my wife! Passed out as she may be, I still know that she’s missing me while I shun her to embrace this page. Yet she supports me still, even in her disillusioned dreams. Much like you, she continues to make me. But she gets all of the credit. Not that I’m not lost, but I know that I surely would be without her.

I hate that she doesn’t understand all that I put down here, but damn, I love explaining it to her, mostly through my flaws. But she accepts them, as I hope you might. Yet still your opinion remains irrelevant. Much as mine is to me.

Usually by now I’d be reviewing what I previously have written. But at this moment I am satisfied. Though I may regret it later, I know for now that these words are true. So I guess that I better give them to you, and let me lament over them later.

The songs scream to me, ‘Be Yourself!’ But it is so easy to be you. Damn! I wish that you could see me now. How vulnerable the confrontation would be. Not to worry, I would project strength. If you would see through it, I would know that you were my friend.

I didn’t even want to fucking write tonight, but sometimes it just happens. Tomorrow I might know why. Perhaps, you could tell me? Good luck, friend, for I know not, despite my authoritative attempts.

Thank intelligence for the random, because, while you keep me as me, you also change up my pace. How it should be otherwise, I’d not let you play. Please allow me to type this before sobriety sets in, so that I can read back this truth!

I hope that these late night scribe sessions annoy the shit out of my neighbors, at least as much as their dogs do me during the day, so much as I can be there. If not, at least the thought might bring comfort.

This Jack Daniel’s has clouded me! But, hopefully it has brightened you. I can understand if it doesn’t, though. If you could see these happenings, you might think me crazy. And perhaps I am. But who the fuck are you to say.

I've got to end these ramblings now, else it go on forever, much as it does while I attempt to sleep. Know that there are far more to come. I’ve earned this right. I can only continue to hope that after reading this you can tell me whether or not you’ve earned the right to read it.

Avaricious

And then there are the moments where you are so wounded by the truth that it draws your breath to cease. You play exhibitionist with the scars, ever proud to have survived the piercing over laden adrenaline shock. The callous harden while time removes them all the further from their inception, an obvious reminder interminably displayed.

Profound as it may endear, never inadmissible, and rightly so. All the while hard earned and devalued in the same. You smile, because to do otherwise would be to allow the undeserving to experience such intoxicating plight. This is our drug, and it is damned expensive. Few can afford the cost, and sobriety continues to be free for our indulgence.

The significance of affliction is oft vilipending. A tragedy of sophomoric thought, ignorant in its naivety, the packaged gift whose surprise has been prematurely revealed. The tipped hat of mockery reveals the jealousy betwixt. Chivalry grants selfishness, yet unbeknownst to the reason for the strife. Shared only amongst the scarred while silently we aspire for those not tormented to understand. In this we will continue to pretentiously grieve.