With the sweet notes of Jamesons from a dirty coffee cup and Townes Van Zandt in my ears I am in a breathing procrastination mode. Eyes blurred from the mental cardio of the day and the physical cardio of the five o'clock hour I savor the moment of peace before more storms when want and need collide with thoughts of art and hobby and retail therapy and masturbation - self serving practices all.
The exorcising of demons and pixies, the annoyance of the uncontrollable mischievous meddlers; of sex and violence and horror show croovy in burgundy shades of sanguine mirth
A winding capillary style behind eyes, the lingering ice pick that pleads for puncture
I am wasting time and failing to find more remorse than contempt to motivate my hand.