side's profile

August 30, 2009 When I write of drunks, I write with enough drink in me but not so much alcohol as to lose the writer. The greats are fully everything; they are the drunk and the writer in a single moment. This is probably why my writing isn't (or ever will be) the epic repeated in college lectures everywhere. I can't be stumbling and creating, I can't be writing and experiencing. I bounce in between two polarities. I am the half finished bottle in the hands of a professional drunk. Not fully...

"I can't stop thinking it's like linked boxcars on a train thats eternally long just passing one after another without end and you're stuck in your car just staring waiting for the train to finish crossing so you can pass. But occationally there is a moment when my thoughts stop, my thinking stops, I draw a blank, and it's peace. Peace until my concentration is broken by a breeze or a noise or something in this world. I'm not suicidal or anything but I imagine death to be a little lik...

I heard the shopping cart being pushed, a woobly wheel stepping closer, so I balanced my bottle of vodka on its unstable side and let it roll back and forth. the cart reached under the streetlamp where I sat crumbled smoking cigarettes and I saw the man that made me his son. "Issac" my name is not Issac "you're Issac my son" the bearded man clothed in a perfume of like vodka pushing a shopping cart full of plastic and a sleeping bag said to me. "can you spare a cigare...

in less time it takes to transition between longing and death you can find yourself so fascinated by the ribbon on your wrist it makes you fall for all of her. And in less time than it takes for the elderly man or woman to realize the pension worked fourty years will be a dream laid off he finds himself so love fascinated by the ribbon on a girl aged as his nonexisting grandchildren. And in less time than it takes to tell the medical news of impending death you can cure all this with a whimpe...

A paper weight words pound a piece spoken strings tied motionless and movement of lips flutters tethered small talk left soundlessly staring.