Journal 34 - Silver Streaks

I watch the shiny wet slug slovenly wriggle its
way across the brown carpeted floor – silver streaks
of mucus unlike silver linings stretch like poop
contrails behind the water fattened polka-dotted leech
cousin. It's hard to see a slug on a brown carpet -
silver lining aside. I'd like to watch the performance
of a slug under the cyclone of a hair dryer. Water
has a weakness. I have a hard time believing that
tomorrow will twist itself right like a cockroach
left on its back. My 'nature' images can be so
urban for a Southerner. Oh noes, I may lose
my passport. The tiny bubbles slide down my
red wine glass like stars dancing before your eyes
after being punched in the nose – there's probably a
correlation – a causally related correlation. Cause it
seems is a difficult thing – not so simple as every
effect has a cause. What's the cause of her
hitting that winning billiard shot in a fun haphazard
game of friendship? I know friends don't come
and go like laughter but they certainly come with
laughter. It's true as truth may be (Eliot) that
laughter is the best medicine, at least the best
placebo; the best mesmerizing triumph of our
conscious minds. Organization is a beautiful thing -
self-organization is quite miraculous. Two cups
of sausage and 3 eggs is not a bad breakfast. Who
ate the first egg? Psycho. Who threw the first
piece of raw meat on the evening winter fire
to be startled by the juicy aroma of beef sizzling
in that flame? That first bite must have been
like the first orgasm – no matter how overdone.
I feel my throat and my heart are conspiring to
overthrow and constrict on me like two small
pythons in a death match for the big game prize.
Good thing I'm fattening myself up for them – not
quite like a sluggish leech but less removed than
one would hope. Hope – again it smuggles itself in
through the slimy back doors of my drunken mind -
like a mutt insistent your smelly home is where his
sleeping blanket lives.

4.14.09