SMOKING and DRINKING
(Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars)
Part 2 : Drunk and Wasted
I’m drunk and wasted off of pain and I’m almost sure that that’s what keeps me insane. And it’s not just my own. So many people have poured their problems and woes in my glass that now I’m always drunk and wasted. I’m so far gone that I hardly ever look at the ground. Their pain is so real that I can taste it. I can’t put it down. It occupies so much of my time that I need an intervention. This wine of woes is deadly and it keeps me tipsy.
Over one thousand bottles of beer on my wall and each one represents a person that I’ve known. They just passed by and I only knew them for a moment. The dregs at the bottom of every bottle is every tear-stained sob story, tale of misfortune or tragedy I’ve ever known. Those beer bottles are just the people who only spent a blink of an eye in my life. Still, somehow the empty bottles found homes on my wall. I needed a bigger spot because I was running out of space over at my place. So, I write these stories and that’s become the Gully God’s Bar. So, you can hop up on a stool, or even reserve a VIP table if you’re able, drink until you’re nice while you turn the pages. So, on a light night I sip beer too but most of the times I guzzle stronger liquor.
My parents’ pain burns my chest to this day like Jamaican over-proof white rum, straight with no chaser. Both of their childhood stories, histories and memories were enough to keep me staggering sideways and then some. It’s been like that since I was born because it had a direct affect on them and governed their co-existence. But, I’m a grown man now so I’ve managed to maintain and my tolerance is higher. Mercifully, I haven’t experienced the hangover because I haven’t gotten to the day after yet.
I probably take on other’s people’s headaches more than I’m supposed to but I don’t believe in turning my back on the ones that I’m close to. Sometimes, we just toast and toss back a shot but there are times when we dead the whole bottle. All we have is each other because where we’re from, we don’t have real role models. If somebody makes it, it’s only a matter of time before they fall flat on their face so we’ve all agreed that to chase them is a waste. It’s the pain that we share that keeps some of us crazy. Our worlds spin out of control until we’re sick. Eventually we throw it all up and disgust the world when they see our guts all over their streets. That would explain so much of this misery I see and the pounding in my head. I know I’ll never escape because we even pour out liquor for the dead.
Worst of all, the news from all over the world keeps me so twisted that I don’t even look anymore because the room is constantly spinning. The woes of the world can give you alcohol poisoning if you try to take it all in. So much of it is right in my face so I stay drunk and wasted all day. Maybe it’ll change. I hope so because I can’t wait to be sober. I wonder what that’s like?
(Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars)
Part 2 : Drunk and Wasted
I’m drunk and wasted off of pain and I’m almost sure that that’s what keeps me insane. And it’s not just my own. So many people have poured their problems and woes in my glass that now I’m always drunk and wasted. I’m so far gone that I hardly ever look at the ground. Their pain is so real that I can taste it. I can’t put it down. It occupies so much of my time that I need an intervention. This wine of woes is deadly and it keeps me tipsy.
Over one thousand bottles of beer on my wall and each one represents a person that I’ve known. They just passed by and I only knew them for a moment. The dregs at the bottom of every bottle is every tear-stained sob story, tale of misfortune or tragedy I’ve ever known. Those beer bottles are just the people who only spent a blink of an eye in my life. Still, somehow the empty bottles found homes on my wall. I needed a bigger spot because I was running out of space over at my place. So, I write these stories and that’s become the Gully God’s Bar. So, you can hop up on a stool, or even reserve a VIP table if you’re able, drink until you’re nice while you turn the pages. So, on a light night I sip beer too but most of the times I guzzle stronger liquor.
My parents’ pain burns my chest to this day like Jamaican over-proof white rum, straight with no chaser. Both of their childhood stories, histories and memories were enough to keep me staggering sideways and then some. It’s been like that since I was born because it had a direct affect on them and governed their co-existence. But, I’m a grown man now so I’ve managed to maintain and my tolerance is higher. Mercifully, I haven’t experienced the hangover because I haven’t gotten to the day after yet.
I probably take on other’s people’s headaches more than I’m supposed to but I don’t believe in turning my back on the ones that I’m close to. Sometimes, we just toast and toss back a shot but there are times when we dead the whole bottle. All we have is each other because where we’re from, we don’t have real role models. If somebody makes it, it’s only a matter of time before they fall flat on their face so we’ve all agreed that to chase them is a waste. It’s the pain that we share that keeps some of us crazy. Our worlds spin out of control until we’re sick. Eventually we throw it all up and disgust the world when they see our guts all over their streets. That would explain so much of this misery I see and the pounding in my head. I know I’ll never escape because we even pour out liquor for the dead.
