Tracing

Waking up in the middle of the night and scratching a mosquito-bite, running your rough tongue along the roof of your mouth, turning over and stretching your toes out beyond the blanket's edge, turning again to the wall...

bacon for breakfast, salad for lunch, roast chicken for dinner...

Doing laps at the Y, taking a community seminar on Development Potential, reading the Gospel of Luke while the sun beats your shoulders, sitting down under a cold shower, watching while the Mets trounce the Dodgers again, making believe you're a lariateer (on your bed, soundtrack loud), meditating, early to bed early to rise, smiling (every once in a while)...

***

All these human moments seem held together, propped up, and impeded by dirty habits. 'Sleep' I know as 'that almost undetectable lapse between masturbation-bouts.' My 'Lunch' is a thing that without fail occurs between the last toke of a rolled cigarette and the first toke of a rolled cigarette. Ditto, 'Shower.' I take a breath in between episodes of 21 JUMP STREET (one night, this entailed breathing exactly 9 breaths, each conveniently separated from the others by 45 minutes). 'Good Conversation' is an event progressively pushed out by the barbedwire fences of duty, distraction, self-pity and -deprecation. 'Love' and 'Philadelphia' - where are they?

It's getting cloudy round here...