You just keep me hanging on...

there are moments, o my beloveds, my tried and trues, my droogs and only friends, o thou faithful who keep stumbling back to this sodden, neglected little spitwad on the world wide web; when the wife is in l.a. for work, and the content of gin and dry vermouth in my blood is overshadowed by the ability of the extra cocktail onion to absorb it; when mark renton is dying on the screen to the dulcet strains of the velvet underground's "perfect day"; there are moments, o my beloved non-existent readers, when i aproximate what might be a rock bottom, and the tears swell, and in this moment of anguish and emptiness i free myself from the shackles of the cares of the day, and i put myself in god's hands, and my eyes open up like broken faucets and all the demons poor out of me like a wash of the soul in a backyard tub, and i am pinned to a line to dry in the sun.

i wish only the best and most beautiful for all of you out there.

oh, and better news and laughter tomorrow, my friends, si o si, come hell or high water.

darth sardonic

* the doorbell rings.

"shit, fuck." i curse, palming the tears out of my sockets with the heels of my hands, encouraging my face into a facsimile of something that belies a bawling, woe-is-me session seated lonely in front of the computer.

i believe in god, o my beloved non-existents. cause at 9 o'clock at night on a wednesday, in the dark, there on my porch, are some friends i haven't talked to nearly all summer.

and cause god knows i am a stupid cunt, and won't reach a hand out to pull myself out of my funk.

so he drops the perfect distraction on me at the very fucking instant i needed it. and now, instead of trainspotting, i find myself watching fanboys and every trace of that "rock bottom" i was empathetically touching a moment ago is all gone, and renton has gone off to die on someone else's tv for the evening, and i can honestly text back to my wonderful wife:

"yeah baby i am ok actually"

and you were here with me the whole time.

thanks*