Saturday, November 5

furious flames.

if it isn't sinking ships, and loosely-laced-back-together lacerated lips,
it's an inflammable engulfment of illicitly liquored-up licks from flame tongues.
what i mean is:
these days,
the woodsly goodness could very well be called albie rock's hard place.
NO.....not that one.
okay then, let's maybe say it's my hard STYLE.
...and it really is a hard style.
the counterproductive clockwise swirl of a funneling tunnel,
spiraling straight down the drain,
into the doo-doo buttery depths of a daily grind that's worn away
all the hand-and-footholds from the foothills to the mountains,
has got a fella feeling like maybe the only moves left to make
are to either wash out, and remain washed up,
or wash my hands of this place, and go get 'em dirty somewhere else.
i mix my metaphors like i mix ingredients-
they're unmeasured, but still pretty tasty, no?
check it out:

light, and heat-
smoke circles and ghost rings and glowing embers alight and aloft
on the flowing currents of autumn air.
all of that is good for you.
all of it is really good for me.
watching a stack of pizza boxes die a viking death reminds me of the glory of pizza,
and still gets the kindling ignited and delighted to keep me warm,
long after the pizza is gone.
i burn a lot of things,
and yet, somehow,
the one thing i've steadily and reliably torched,
throughout my storied career as a berserker barbarian battle-beastly bard,
and teller of true stories and provided of wild rides,
remains fireproof in this perilous chasm of deep and dark and dire gloomy doom.
which is to say: i can't seem to burn these bridges, bro.
i'm here,
spanning time and crossing paths,
on a very lonely stretch of road, remote,
and removed from all the other hottness.
i'm sayin',
whatever heat i'm throwing is the only source in these parts these days,
and the cold shoulders, cold nights,
and cold war of incommunicado cointelpro
that constitute my personal and professional life
have got me feeling like maybe i've used up all the fuel in the area.
the embers are dying out,
and the ambers are all gone too.
there's fire and there's being fired,
and i dont know which one would be better.
here's the clearer, less-clandestine version:
living and working in a place where a steady decline in success,
across the board seems to be the only steady and reliable trajectory,
is making me lose little chips off of my old stone heart.
i don't lose sleep over it,
only because i already don't get much shut-eye,
i doubt that the future has me firmly affixed here.
today would've been an anniversary, had things not taken a hot sh!t,
tuesday would've too, had things not taken an even hotter sh!t some years prior.
NOvember is an A*-hole,
and the beginning only ever seems like the beginning of the end.
luckily we gain an hour of darkness tomorrow.
i'm SURE that'll cheer things up a whole bunch.
in the meantime,
there's still work to do, for now.
albeit less of it,
and on less-exciting people,
with less-exciting ideas,
and budgets that belittle their big (bad) ideas.
don't mistake my miserable attitude for a lack of effort-
i'm grateful fro the time i'm given,
even when it's a bad time.
the alternatives are far worse,
and complaining about it seems to help.
this is where i tell true stories-
that doesn't mean i only want to talk about cake;
never quiet, never soft.....

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