Journal 19 – Talons and Vicadin

If the heart only has so many beats I hope
I have the heart of a camel; though I think
I may have the heart of a jackrabbit. Though
it's said rabbits are good at something else. That
may be up for debate in my case; or not. The
cyan evening diminishes in glory when the new
moon rises to meet the dark night of the woods –
where great horned owls talon people mindlessly
wondering in pretence of fat-lopping exercise. As
can be seen my pen died and had to be replaced by
one less refined. Perhaps there can be a rebirth,
though hopefully not by flame. My heart has
converted but not in the religious sense though I
would it were. It just now sucks the blood in and
spits it back out correctly, without the wild erratic
gyrations it fell back o. But my legs still twitch and
ache from their abstinence. Abstinence makes my
heart grow fonder, or calmer. But it makes my thighs
and calves feel like they have dead tissue – allegedly
a painful thing. Vicadin is here to save the day. My
voice is out with the moles in the ground tonight;
recalcitrant in its adjustment to the new altered state
of being. Things are different when sober. Lots of
crazy shit out there. Pathetic is the sound of the
words reverberating in my hollow skull like a
million pinballs ricocheting off themselves in
shattered confusion. A vision in words would be nice,
reaching for the tree of style and plucking a
leafy branch or two would be just like the
derivative hack I am. Will my thoughts congeal
into thought one day – one coherent stable and
developed thought? Instead of the jumbled
third world mediocre drivel that drips from this
pen like drool from a slow 18-month old with
no teeth. They should have come in by now.
What's the word for longer than latent? That's
right – there is none – it's grasping at dandelions
in the wind. Wolfgang glares down at me with his
prodigious condescending eyes. Einstein stares back
with his pool-black eyes.

3.10.09