it was 6am. i'd been working all night. it started to rain. grey skies. black clouds. black skies. cold rain and lots of it. i could use a drink. i walk to the corner. the bar is open every day. "night and day, you are the one." it's wednesday or tuesday. i'm sitting in the corner in the back. in the dark. minding my own business. staying out of the way, trying to get out of the way of the sad blue light.
the sad blue light shocked me like a cop on a raid and there i was -- sleeping with goats. i painted my fingernails with blood. i wrote words across my face. sweat came out of every pore of my body. i had my yes and my no. in the spring it rained. it the winter it snowed.
all i wanted to do was sit in the corner upstairs in the booth with only one chair near the window and be left alone. i wanted to stay away from the sad blue light. so i pawned my mind for a bowl of rice. i disguised my voice over the phone. it was a shadow of things to come. it was the curse, the beginning of the worse. i carried the rugged old rusty cross like a crucifixation around my neck. it rang like a cow bell. it kept me up a few days. i walked around in a trance on a night highway. i stood in doorways waiting to be slaughtered.
i tried to shut off the sad blue light before i went insane. i drank a few more, enough so i could see paint on the water. i saw the grave in the garden. i saw the bathroom door and the alley behind the bar, out back behind the dark corner. i saw the coward in the mirror. i tasted the mud of the ordinary. i fell in the mud. i walked through a maze of hallways and doors painted black. i saw an angel inside a cloud. i saw a demon inside my skull. i heard my voice begging for the end of the world. i ripped up old photographs of an angel with blood on its lips laughing at me. a slow song dripped like saliva from the corners of its mouth. it was bleeding on virgin snow in winter. i saw an angel with emerald eyes. it was crying inside the mountain. it was buried alive inside the colon of the mountain. i wanted to hang myself in the sad blue light.
i fell asleep and forgot to close the window. my foot fell off the chair. i woke up with an appetite for the strange. my glass was empty. my breath smelled bad. apparently, every word i ever spoke had turned rotten like rotten meat and smelled bad in my mouth. so i looked for my coat, my baggy pants, boots and a sharp pencil. then i hid in a closet to get away from the sad blue light. i slept on old faded yellow newspapers.
the sad blue light shocked me like a cop on a raid and there i was -- sleeping with goats. i painted my fingernails with blood. i wrote words across my face. sweat came out of every pore of my body. i had my yes and my no. in the spring it rained. it the winter it snowed.
all i wanted to do was sit in the corner upstairs in the booth with only one chair near the window and be left alone. i wanted to stay away from the sad blue light. so i pawned my mind for a bowl of rice. i disguised my voice over the phone. it was a shadow of things to come. it was the curse, the beginning of the worse. i carried the rugged old rusty cross like a crucifixation around my neck. it rang like a cow bell. it kept me up a few days. i walked around in a trance on a night highway. i stood in doorways waiting to be slaughtered.
i tried to shut off the sad blue light before i went insane. i drank a few more, enough so i could see paint on the water. i saw the grave in the garden. i saw the bathroom door and the alley behind the bar, out back behind the dark corner. i saw the coward in the mirror. i tasted the mud of the ordinary. i fell in the mud. i walked through a maze of hallways and doors painted black. i saw an angel inside a cloud. i saw a demon inside my skull. i heard my voice begging for the end of the world. i ripped up old photographs of an angel with blood on its lips laughing at me. a slow song dripped like saliva from the corners of its mouth. it was bleeding on virgin snow in winter. i saw an angel with emerald eyes. it was crying inside the mountain. it was buried alive inside the colon of the mountain. i wanted to hang myself in the sad blue light.
i fell asleep and forgot to close the window. my foot fell off the chair. i woke up with an appetite for the strange. my glass was empty. my breath smelled bad. apparently, every word i ever spoke had turned rotten like rotten meat and smelled bad in my mouth. so i looked for my coat, my baggy pants, boots and a sharp pencil. then i hid in a closet to get away from the sad blue light. i slept on old faded yellow newspapers.
