Saturday, September 24, 2011

Johnny Rumble:
Heart of Darkness

My thought process has turned as dark as the water in the bottom of the bath after a hard day's work.  Not to say that I'm falling into a depression or anything, and fuck know's I'm either to stubborn to die by bleeding out, or too chicken shit to try, but the moods, the thoughts, the emotions, and the cravings have turned "dark."

I find solace from this state standing under the hot rain in the shower, a reflective time, to think about what is going on, the sounds of the H2O and dirt pounding on my skin and the plastic under my hot pink toenails and cracked calluses.  The isolation helps, my own version of the padded cell.  Sometimes I hear a sad piano playing softly.

I don't think much anymore when I'm in the "real" world.  It all looks 1940's Film Noir anyway, black and white, lots of shadows, even in the daylight.  That's where I've ben thriving, in the shadows, the ones under the cars, adjusting this or that, turning eccentric cams and making the red box turn to green.  I don't even have to look up at the undercarriage, the naked and exposed beauty of a well crafted frame, like a proper stripper doing her job really well.  The curves, the heft, the sensuality is gone.  It's all the same.  I'm Hollywood Goth again I guess, all dark and depressed, black clothes hung on pale skin. 

Self-medication, if possible, would probably entail Zolfot, Trileptal, Lithium and Codine.  This cocktail would probably end up killing me, but strangely, I seem rather okay with that, going out in a blaze of OD glory, the fields of white chrysanthemums billowing in the breeze, the clouds in thier white fluff, marshmellow paste in the sky, edible, if only they could be reached.  The lone jet fighter streaking across the blue, chased by long trails, a road for the cowboys and wranglers to follow.  The apple trees would be dancing, humming hymns, Amazing Grace, Swing Low, the notes and keys marching on the branches.  A ladybug crawls onto the green leaf, spreads it's wings, and I lay back and close my eyes, rocketing to the dusty plains of Mars,

Johnny Rumble

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