I create whole worlds by pressing the snooze button,, fighting time to keep them real
There was a significant preamble but I assure you that most of it is lost now, like when you're digging a hole in the sand and after a certain part the walls start caving in, and you're just digging to fight them from caving all the way.
Something about playing a club, with one of my friends. Cris Balls shows up while we're breaking down. Some girls show up, and there's some sort of awkward sexual intrigue, but I really don't remember.
Two small houses, almost connected by their back porches, overlooking a back yard, back gates, and the alley. The one I'm standing on is Brent's. He doesn't know me that well, and doesn't know I'm here. I see him leave out the front, he turns off the streetlights as he leaves. There is only the first hint of morning light, but the sun will not be out for another hour. The other house is full of fetish models and photographers, and I don't remember which one I'm here to see. Two women, mostly naked and painted green run in from the alley and duck behind a tool shed to hose themselves off. They must have filmed that zombie porn here I figure.I look up and there is a model smoking a cigarette a few feet away. I can almost touch her. I can touch her even though the porches are not touching. She's smoking a cigarette.Should I bum one? Yes. No? A cigarette would make me look less like a guy staring into someone else's backyard. A Hispanic guy with short hair and a long leather coat comes out smoking. I ask him for a cigarette. Copout!. Then Keight is there, smoking.
"Oh look, a dog!" The sky is two shades lighter, so that everything is hued blue. Two puppies chase each other around the front yard. "Is there any way to get a puppy? Like to get someone to lend you their puppy? Does that happen?"
"Yes, but there is a significantly higher chance of getting peed on. The good thing is that once you get puppy pee all over the place, the other puppies will know it's safe to come over. You really want to spread it around."
A few more people show up, leagues of them, until there are two or three dozen of them here on this porch. A wedding party of some sort.
"I hope you don't mind, Brent said we could use his porch for the last couple of shots because the group is so big." The Hispanic guy tells me.
The group consists of long-haired metal heads and a large contingent of people in full NASCAR jumpsuits. A girl in a pink shirt, glasses and a lip ring grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the picture, with me on the inside and her on the edge. She kisses my cheek in a way that blocks me out of the shot. It feels good. The crowd roars and throws up metal horns for the next shot. We roar. We throw up horns.
"Oh look, he's trying so hard." She points to a little baby in a wifebeater, trying to make the hand gesture. His face looks pained.
"When I was little, I had a lot of trouble holding up any finger other than the pointer, and keeping the finger next to it down. It was excruciating. I would always end up doing this." show her my hand in a Dr. Spock formation.
"How sad."
"Yeah, especially because I was metal, not Star Trek! It wasn't until years later that I found out--"
Alarm Clocl
--I could be both. Damn. I really wanted to finish that sentence. I think she would've laughed. I wake up, click the wrong part of the internet, and Kurt Vonnegut is dead. R.I.P.
Something about playing a club, with one of my friends. Cris Balls shows up while we're breaking down. Some girls show up, and there's some sort of awkward sexual intrigue, but I really don't remember.
Two small houses, almost connected by their back porches, overlooking a back yard, back gates, and the alley. The one I'm standing on is Brent's. He doesn't know me that well, and doesn't know I'm here. I see him leave out the front, he turns off the streetlights as he leaves. There is only the first hint of morning light, but the sun will not be out for another hour. The other house is full of fetish models and photographers, and I don't remember which one I'm here to see. Two women, mostly naked and painted green run in from the alley and duck behind a tool shed to hose themselves off. They must have filmed that zombie porn here I figure.I look up and there is a model smoking a cigarette a few feet away. I can almost touch her. I can touch her even though the porches are not touching. She's smoking a cigarette.Should I bum one? Yes. No? A cigarette would make me look less like a guy staring into someone else's backyard. A Hispanic guy with short hair and a long leather coat comes out smoking. I ask him for a cigarette. Copout!. Then Keight is there, smoking.
"Oh look, a dog!" The sky is two shades lighter, so that everything is hued blue. Two puppies chase each other around the front yard. "Is there any way to get a puppy? Like to get someone to lend you their puppy? Does that happen?"
"Yes, but there is a significantly higher chance of getting peed on. The good thing is that once you get puppy pee all over the place, the other puppies will know it's safe to come over. You really want to spread it around."
A few more people show up, leagues of them, until there are two or three dozen of them here on this porch. A wedding party of some sort.
"I hope you don't mind, Brent said we could use his porch for the last couple of shots because the group is so big." The Hispanic guy tells me.
The group consists of long-haired metal heads and a large contingent of people in full NASCAR jumpsuits. A girl in a pink shirt, glasses and a lip ring grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the picture, with me on the inside and her on the edge. She kisses my cheek in a way that blocks me out of the shot. It feels good. The crowd roars and throws up metal horns for the next shot. We roar. We throw up horns.
"Oh look, he's trying so hard." She points to a little baby in a wifebeater, trying to make the hand gesture. His face looks pained.
"When I was little, I had a lot of trouble holding up any finger other than the pointer, and keeping the finger next to it down. It was excruciating. I would always end up doing this." show her my hand in a Dr. Spock formation.
"How sad."
"Yeah, especially because I was metal, not Star Trek! It wasn't until years later that I found out--"
Alarm Clocl
--I could be both. Damn. I really wanted to finish that sentence. I think she would've laughed. I wake up, click the wrong part of the internet, and Kurt Vonnegut is dead. R.I.P.
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