A Letter To My Editor
I see the world through half closed eyes today. Grinding my teeth and scratching the piece of plastic on my arm that is intravenously feeding the demon that is now just polluting my blood stream. I�m amazed that these half-closed blood shot eyes opened at all; forget the fact that they grudgingly opened on time. If I tried to explain to you the draw of the tree in the front yard and how it just screams out to have empty aluminum cans lofted into its branches, you probably wouldn�t understand, unless you try it first.
Kidnapped Buddha�s and one dimpled smiles, piles of torn labels for nervous habits and an amazement how easy people are to read when you just pay attention.
Yes I know we shouldn�t poke fun at or make sarcastic comments about the one that brings us beer, but damn it, I swear to you she looks like a well drawn caricatures from Franken-hooker; while the body won�t quit, her head looks like it was sewn on.
Through wine-soaked lips, comes wine-soaked speech, where I mutter and mumble with half-closed eyes. The compliments fall in a wine-soaked torrent, washing around, until your skin blushes to match the color of those wine-soaked lips. Eyes turn towards feet, shoulders meet ears and I can�t believe someone doesn�t tell you these things every day. Specific adjectives are unimportant, but for reference sometimes I actually can talk as well as I write and I never dish out heaping doses of compliments through wine soaked lips that are anything but insincere.
I see the world through half closed eyes today. And damn it, if I can�t sleep off the way wine makes me drowsy and disconnected, I should at least be able to wear my sun glasses indoors. Eye drops, cold showers and tying off my arm with rubber bands to slam the caffeine/nicotine mix directly into my system may help me function in public, but it still can�t mask the fact that I still taste cigarettes and distilled grapes as I run my tongue across these wine-soaked lips. I climb the walls and trudge the halls, focusing on breaking habits, grasping at straws and doing anything and everything not to go completely insane.
It�s hard not to focus as we uncork the stoppers and pour everything onto the table and just when the bottles seem empty, there are always infinitely more that we keep in our well stocked mental wine cellars. I think of how people are lining up around the block to have the connection, respect and attention your scrawny body guards receive and realize the fine line between utter creative insanity and just being a little less left of center than I always claimed us to be. I�m not sure if it�s the wine, or the moonlight or maybe there just really is something about you that makes my brain freeze as Guns �N Roses tunes suddenly overrun my thought process. So I tell you the things everyone else should and my agenda is not even hidden since I�ve already carefully mapped it out and added arrows, asterisks and footnotes since you seem to be so bad with directions. Even if I do so for my own motivations and selfishness, it surprises me that this is an act of selflessness since this benefits more than just me.
Through half closed eyes I listened to how the words in my head are supposed to sound when read aloud and this was more fantastic than a few bars sung behind bathroom doors; even if the vocal exercises sound infinitely more beautiful.
When my half-closed eyes and vino subdued body trudged off to the bitter folds of corporate amerika and fought with an alarm clock that rang entirely too early, a hazy cloudy depressive day greeted me. So today, as I stalk the parking lots, grind my teeth and marvel out how we changed the weather to suit our moods as we battle our foes, I find comfort in the fact that we don�t do it alone. The world is a much easier place to change when more than one person exerts their will upon it.
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