Wednesday, October 18, 2006

swim away...

My shoulder hurts. I smoke too much. My mind has acquired a limp. This wandering, pointless desire… a hooker who steals your wallet when you take a piss. I gave back the bed but what to do with all these sheets? Women are dismantling me incrementally. I am a willing participant at my own foreclosure. This screenplay needs a new plot. Fire the cameraman... he's a pervert. No denouement can save me now. Lust is a hangover and love is a movie you've seen too many times. I knew her lines better than she did. I lost my car in a beautiful parking lot – which one? Let her have it -- just don't look in the trunk. I’d give back these boots but I’ve already worn holes in them. When will I stop talking to the ghosts in my bed? Who built this prison in my heart? Who issued the permit? Revoke her license – she’s blind with power. It takes a day to roll myself into a plan… and by the end of the night I’m smoked down to nothing. One thing is perfectly clear: this boat is an anchor. Swim away.