(and everyone else, really)
are led to believe that after seven hours of working
straight on anything,
you start to go a little crazy.
and
well,
this may be true an all,
but it all i want to do is work harder
and longer
and then i get caught up and
forget about everything
and everyone.
I had to slice a part of my finger off with a blade,
by accident, honest
to slow down and chill.
my finger wouldn't stop gushing
and i bled all over my long hard work
almost.
***
i stand outside smoking another cigarette
waiting to talk to someone.
it's surprising calm outside and i hear a lonely
drip
dripping.
it's the drain pipe, with stale drops of water
falling all the way from the top.
We talk.
it goes well,
well,
as best as it could,
which is better than i thought.
i chew some gum to get rid of the tobacco taste
but it cuts right through
peeling the paint from the inside of my head.
***
i'm playing piano now,
lots of chords,
a big cluster-fuck of the whole goddam scale
which dissipates
into a bass driven run across all the keys,
all of them.
my bloody fingers busts open again
and my tracks are left
like paw prints
across my favorite keys.
***
i'm showering, finally.
on the bathroom radio,
a mix from my friend plays.
this one,
it's saved my days often,
and now it's working again.
the warm water is it's own reference point in my day.
i enjoy the water as best i can
as music from far away echoes around the room.
Now it's bob dylan.
"simple twist of fate!
it's just a simple twist a fate!!!"
this is the cleanest i will feel for a while
because when i get out of the shower,
my fingers will still smell like cigarettes.
***
but listen,
i made a new mix today,
a really good one,
which works almost as well as the other.
i'm listening to it often, maybe i'll send it to someone.
yea, maybe i'll do that.
