a moment to deliberate

In the beginning stages of that September season, in its rare forms of splintery splendor, where the not so distant memories of a summer just past fill your insides with that magic churning, comes a break from the tide, and in the break lies the jaded angst of another love, heartbreak, heartache, misery, crying, torment, manipulation and envy. In the coldest of months, in the dryest of times, in the shadowy creeping of the molded years that stick to our skins, like white underwear in a hot August morning in Batan Rouge, we meet fate, and it shows us, in its own unique way, the high road. We feel that wind, on the follicles of our skin, however we don't know whether it comes or whether it goes, but we know it's there just the same. Each person in turn, choosing the depths of reality as a conscious stigmata towards deviance, and it slips out and it works away at the very apple core gone brown-slowly in the traishcanister with time, and you finally realize that what you are sick from, that very nasty depression of crying into pillows, what you were guilty of your whole life, and you want to make some sort of repentance, some sort of Oscar Wilde type syndrome, and it manifests itself in your upstairs and it sits there, so deleciously and eats away at your boredom, at your solitude, and somewhere in Ketchum Idaho like Tate himself, perhaps you will torment away with the bottle and hang yourself in your own misery. You find love and love alters your world and mood and the things around you- that all abound you, that know you and understand you are complex now, as the lust of once great magnitude turns into sultry lies, and deceit and the 180 happens and they are a different person all together; the other form, the distant alien, the tropical gangster of another life, another lie, that perhaps hardboiled character that comes out and plays after your intial first impression gives way to the real them, and wow that sure can be devestatingly decieving. The Smart Water sits almost empty, three days older now since first bought next to a thirty dollar oak quadralateral clock that has had the same battery in it for what seems like two years running, and the candles are all wicked out, and they are all burning nothing, because there is no wax to ignite the flames and the Jose is empty and it's too far to walk to get another bottle, and is it really worth 13.00 for another one, when you know rent is do in one week and dont have a dime on you except enough to use the phrase, "where the day will take you." You know you have issues, perhaps a concoction of lithium with resperdal, perhaps a Xanax to boot, and you open yourself up again to a boy, you let him in your world, and are shellshocked by the cunning, awful presence of manipulation, that great starfish that protrudes through rotted teeth that hiss at your soul, and you believe it, you fall for it yet again, but this time, you will not let him back, not let him come back to you with jet black eyes affixiated on your own blue and he cries and cries 'I'm sorry' and you go to to touch his hand, you go to grab it again, perhaps for one last time, and this time though, this time, however there is no electricity. no, not like there was at Christmas, not like there was in every solitary moment with him for nearly two months. And where did it go baby? where did the splendor disappear to that carried me through the vast utopia of the winter months that were so bitterly cold, but yet so warm in your embrace, that to the very God's themselves, they very name I call out, "OH HOMERIC," that indeed I was in love again with that lost child of adolescence, my youth brought back to life, rekindled for a bit and now, to where? To where oh Gods, to where does my weary soul turn to in times of distress, where does one find solice and in the boredom aggrevate my minds eye, and wanting to call him, wanting to text him, but I cannot, I cannot trust him, how awful is that Mother, how awful is that I cannot believe what he tells me, how often people told me that in my life, and here it is again happening to me at first hand. I have paid my dues, no more please, I have learned my lesson. by and by, stop the seratonine, I can take no more, pump me full of Inderal and let me bask away in it's potentcy. It is the Second of January, and he is on my bed and the tv is giving off that blue aura from the dvd player after a film perhaps is over or has yet to begin, and it shines on us, and gives the skin that buttery look, that shimmering yoke of wonderment, and I am looking dead into his eyes, right ito the soul of Dante, and he is smiling and kissing me, taking my mouth into his, his tongue finding mine, and I slow him down and bite his upper lip, and and my teeth go over my bottom lip and I look up at him, very Belezbub like and he sits on top of me, and takes his shirt off and he goes fast after my mouth again and it's so heavenly and I can do this forever, waiter do not bring the main dishes, this is fine, this is fine for the rest of my life, right here and the world could end, please sir, can I order that tray, 'the world can end and I am fine here with the hollandaise sauce'.....this boy, David Foster Wallace, some Xanax, A homeade Margartti from Palm Springs, what else can one want, Homer? Homer? Henry Miller? the great starfish, Laurence Durell? Greece in the 1930's? a bmw 6 series convertible? I awoke that same night and grabbed his hand, his fingers cupped and layed in between my own, he was sleepig but said 'I love you' aloud and then snored again, both his hands now enveloping my one, and I sat there and he was a big boy, like 6 feet tall almost, very athletic, alot of boy to put an arm around and my other foot was asleep and my elbow was stinking with funny bone, and I didn't want to move, god methinks that he would lift a leg to escape mine on accident, or move a hand to go somewhere on satin rather than skin and oh no I will deal, and my heart is palpatating, it is giving that wonderful cacophony of music around the room, and the cars outside, with their loud mufflers whisk by at the nearer to 2am hour, and I am so content, and I am so happy, and it's ok, it's ok, everything will work out. Now here you are, look at you now, you fraud, you fake, you were just like me, the rotten half, the mildewed ear, the vacant locked stare, the consistent text of sorrow, and IM sorry's, and the lying to the teeth right up to the last minute, you fervent beast, the strangers stranger....the black haired wonder, the black eyed masterpiece, the smooth skinned and muscled armed tanned Nordic looking fine mother fucker.....I need more than that son, baby, the heydey in the blood runs thicker now with you, I am numb now, I am numb, I cannot live with that alone, the pain of the rest is far outweighing the other half...and so it goes, and so it goes.... this too shall pass..... Constantly create, don't conform.