eternal servitude

Think. Play. Drink. Blank.

I'm engaged in a brazen game where a king card colludes with a few brisk sips of wine and whiskey. After a quick surge, I find myself purging my innards while my awareness begins to blur.

Retire. Stand. Sigh. Plan.

I brush my teeth a few times, mindlessly try a wash and follow it up with a stick of gum. Kind of numb. I can't really feel my mouth, but I can still smile and taste a few flavors, and I'm reminded of that time I was given a low dose of novocaine when the dentist scraped the inside of my cheek. I repeatedly stare at my face in the mirror and gaze away until I find my feet leading me out the bathroom and back to her room across the hall.

Walk. Stay. Wait. Lay.

___

In my favorite painting are three clocks seen melting; one sliding off a table, another draped on the branch of a tree, and the last hanging on what appears to be a face. Are they deceased, or just swept up in a moment that's been slowed to an infinitesimal pace? Dali's Persistence of Memory.

___

Purple and indigo patterns sway from one side of my line of sight to the other as I begin to climb onto a lofted throne, shadows thrown onto a wall and bordered by an amber-golden glow. An adorned heiress with a crown surrounding her third eye glides around the corner in order to reclaim what she's owed, to slowly climb the other side of this private island and to engage this peon with a bit of hopeful negotiation...

city living/fast forward

Coked out and blowing noses on a fleece sleeve, struggling to breathe and doubling down, ground pounded by a set of knees. Strolling through the streets of the big city in some loaded jeans, penny loafers and a soda tee, clothes thrown together in the better half of a minute before leaving. Lines railed on a railing in a small hallway, Round of Applause playing flagrantly after banging a stranger in the next room over. Sober and solely searching for some low-priced blow while sidestepping a slice of ice, which might have helped save a life. Flying into the city during twilight, preparing for a wild night out and minoring in a class of applied nihilism.

Rewind.

transience

Star-gazing and soul-searching. Examining the skyline with a blind eye in the nighttime hoping that I might find traces of a creator pervading the horizon. Seeking a sip from the golden chalice during the blink of sunrise and drowning in mounds of formaldehyde with intentions to be, forever.

Is it ok if we make a trade? You can go back to relaxing in Elysium if I get to smother my dried eyes and dehydrated taste buds in your summer rain...

Storm clouds forming overhead remind me that the thunder and lightning never last; that this world I'm shouldering is only finite, and that the pain will pass. If Atlas can shrug then I should be able to lug this dead weight over boundless mountains and through vast valleys in order to get a better view, even if just to see the aether retreat and be replaced by the vacant spaces between me and you, and the places where we lay.

Maybe you can help me glimpse The Unreachable by channeling It through rhythmic contortions, croaking groans and shallow breathing. And perhaps, after your brief meeting, we can reconvene and I can listen to your heart and its transient beating...

Sun-staring and soul-searching. Pursuing a negligent God and looking for Her in the daytime with a flashlight. Tasting the forbidden fruit and ingesting its roots during the arrival of twilight, with intentions to eventually end this charade of resisting decay and to just live, if only for today...