Σάββατο, 11 Σεπτεμβρίου 2010

Crappy morning

The only word describing perfectly that morning.
Misery and a bitter taste of a headache.
Funny thing in waking up in a place you didn't expect to wake up is that there are a lot of small surprises for you to find out.
describes perfectly an early morning when you realize you fell asleep still holding your cigarette.
A cigarette
One of those waiting all night long for you to suck them, as loyal companions usually do.
A cigarette
One of those you kiss and kiss and smile at, knowing that you are both killing each other - only thing is, you are not usually the one going out first.
There is a chance, that, sometimes, on one of those nights you reach deep in the rotten cocks' pit, when having drunk a liter of Irish medicine and hitting your head on the pub's table don't make it sound any better, when there is no one to clean the vomit off your hair, maybe then, it's your turn to go out first.
So misery was there that morning looking all sexy and gorgeous.
Misery was between my fingers, misery was laying her eggs in my throat coloring my spit brown, misery was there when I tried to get up and, apart from a passed out human, I touched a nest of ashes and cigarette butts. Yep, that was misery, for sure, we've met before, had a couple of drinks...
What the fuck happened here last night?
Classic signs:
A throat as dry as a dehydrated pussy that had sex for days non stop until blood replaced cum.
A mouth angry for all the shit and piss I've been sending down all night long.
A nose full of black hard stones that remind me something could be wrong with smoking.
Eyes. Eyes? I see no eyes yet, give some time.
Every single joint hurts, every move I make asks me to lay down until somebody picks me up, or until the world ends at least.
That's the spirit to get started with a new day in an early morning. Is it even morning still? What day is it anyway?
Could have been morning when I fell asleep talking bullshit with a friend, but I just hope it's still the same day.
I didn't need second thoughts to wipe my fingertips on my clothes; never mind, that's what washing machines are for.
I can smell something weird. Hmm... Misery smells differently on every person.
I stink. I smell of dust, mold and morning spit. I smell of 3-days old sweat, period blood and smoke. I smell of whiskey and beer and maybe some coke. I smell like shit, more or less.
On the other hand my co-sleeper/drooling corpse seems to be smelling just fine. How remarkable! How can they do this? Walk in and out straight of the shitlakes in hell, and they could still smell just fine.
I find bruises all over my body. Maybe because I tend to bump into things when I'm drunk. Legs and arms, they just head their own separate ways. The bruises over my arm veins seem a lot bluer today, they seem darker blue with delicate yellow tips. Who cares? If it gets rotten, I'll know it.
A look around the place:
glasses, bottles, spirits poured on the floor (what a waste!), cigarettes, tobacco everywhere, a lighter, clothes, napkins, snacks, books, notes, an ashtray full of something black and sticky and stinky - don't wanna know more.
Oh fuck, it's one of those times you think you should talk this out with somebody, but talking is the last thing I wanna do now. Make me do anything, only, I beg you, do not ask questions. No questions asked. Not in a sick lazy morning, not ever.
That dude next to me... Should I wake him up or should I go back to sleep and wake up when everything would make sense? Fuck it, I need to pee. Some more door-and-table-bumping on the way, some more bruises that will make me look like my ass got kicked really hard last night. Which could be true, by the way.
How many painkillers should I swallow and how many cups of dark coffee should I drink before I log in to reality? I really hate it when reality strikes hard straight on my forehead mercilessly like bad news not getting any better day by day.
The room smells like dirt and decadence, like dead dreams and decapitated deliria, like desperate desires and destructive destinies. Before last night, it seemed like a really neat place to invite friends at and have some mint tea with them. Now, only gazing around makes me wanna puke.
One could claim that we met delight last night. But it seems she ran away by the time misery got in the game.
Misery: cruel like an ex, compassionate like a bro, meticulously slow like an enemy.
I gotta run too before they wake up. Before it starts raining whos and whys and whats.
I hate morning questioning.

4 σχόλια:

black orchid είπε...

ΚΥΠαλ δε χρειαζεται νομιζω να το γραφω καθε φορα πως αμα θες μεταφρα, την κανουμε.

pepper ann είπε...

ωχ.να τος ο μπουκοφσκι.

μου θύμισες αυτό, απ'το "υπεραστικό μεθύσι":
"Ίσως κάποια στιγμή σκεφτείς, ειδικά αν είσαι νέος, πώς έχεις τη τύχη με το μέρος σου, και μερικές φορές πράγματι, νιώθεις να σου χαμογελάει. Αλλά υπάρχουν αυτοί οι κάθε λογής νόμοι και στατιστικές, που την υπαρξή τους αγνοείς παντελώς, αλλά που αποδεικνύονται αλάθευτοι, ακόμα κι όταν φαντάζεσαι πως όλα πάνε μια χαρά. Κάποιο βράδυ, κάποια ζεστή καλοκαιρινή νύχτα, μια Πέμπτη, εσύ είσαι αυτός που πέφτει στο πιοτό, μόνος και έρημος σε ένα ανώνυμο δωματιο της συμφοράς. Δεν έχει σημασία πόσες φορές βρέθηκες εκεί μέσα κλεισμένος, δε βοηθά σε τίποτα να το σκέφτεσαι, ίσα ίσα που τα κάνει χειρότερα, γιατί δε το χωράει ο νους σου ότι πρέπει να το ξανααντικρίσεις. Το μόνο που σου απομένει είναι να ανάψεις άλλο ένα τσιγάρο, να βάλεις άλλο ένα ποτό, και να αφήσεις το βλέμμα σου να πλανηθεί στους μαδημένους τοίχους αναζητώντας χείλια και μάτια."

Ανώνυμος είπε...

μισω τα πρωινα που πας στη δουλειά

black orchid είπε...

αν ηταν ολα τα πρωινα σαν το crappy morning δε θα πηγαινα ποτε στη δουλεια...
κι αυτο ειναι κομπλιμεντο