Icarus's blog: "I need a drink."

The unending womb of despair. Begins with waking. I fear I will never dream pleasantly again. I fear... there will be no dawn for me, no refuge, nowhere. There is someone here, who wants to speak. His name is self-loathing. He speaks from within. "Fly." He says with a grin full of rotting teeth, clacking gold baubles on my chair. Fly, but all I wanted was to dream. Would he settle for just gliding? "Drift?" The leathery man shifted, releasing a hissing cackle, creaking quietly with age. My response failed him. It shambles to the darkest corner of the room. Melting into shadow, waiting for me, yellowed eyes watching. I can still hear his shuddering breath, practically feel the stench on my lips. Do I now suffer poor self-image, or true-self image, that would be the question. What treasures have I lost tonight? Is there nothing left? What new hell might this night still conjure... what did I do to deserve it all?

Come home, but not because I miss you. Come home because I love you. I want to smile with you again. That secret grin I used to point and laugh at when I weezled it out of you. The smile you reserved only for me. The one hidden behind that sparkle in your eyes. I want to hold you comfortably close. Pressed skin to skin, completely and utterly attached. Like I belonged in your pocket, and you in my lap. I want to talk smack on grouchy toothless people in the next booth. I want to learn how to play guitar, but that's another list. And I want all this everyday for the rest of my life. At least that honest, loving smile on top of that calm, gentle, warm love of yours. Shouldn't really take that much... right?

Reality's gateway slammed shut behind me. I'm alone again... and my dog is an IDIOT. Seriously, she drank bleach today. *tissle giggle chuckle snort*- NO! REALLY! The fucking retard drank bleach today! And she's surely got something in her mouth again that she shouldn't. Where was I? Oh. Right. Alone. SOOOOO Alone. And now she's... growling at me and shoving an obliterated ratty ... soaked with mystery skunk sock at me. Do I want out of this? You bet your ass. I seriously may beat the EVER-LiVing-FUCK out of this dog. When I'm normally a very patient and sensible nonviolent person. But it gets kinda frustrating when a dog that has already been trained suddenly realizes it's almost your weight and thinks it can do whatever the fuck to you and your stuff, whenever the fuck. ...as we take a five minute break to ... seriously... fuck off. as we take a five minute break for the dog to burrow into me, climb on me and bark, and bite... and gnaw... and bark... and bark... and bark... and bark... and bark...closer to ten minutes. I never get a fucking break. I have no idea of how to manage my life between... work, school... and this PESTILENT PUPPY! I can't go out. I can't stay in. I can't get a sitter. I can't do homework. I can't get more hours. I am this dog's fucking prisoner. No... I'm my own prisoner. Like I said... no breaks. No friends. No time. No energy. No money. No fucking life whatsoever... and now... no relationship. God... I really do have nothing don't I? An education, a family, and an open ticket? It's really not that attractive an offer. I want a closed ticket. I want a one way ticket. I want a nice house in the middle of nowhere with 3 kids with names I like, and my wife. A coushy office job, preferably in my field, and a half dozen publishing deals with more under contract. But more than anything... I really want my wife back. But right now I'm babbling... to make god damn sure I don't get stuck staring at the ceiling again. I'd get down on my knees and beg her or some other pathetic gesture to come home, but she's either ignoring me, or already passed out... seriously can this dog fucking mind for more than five fucking seconds? How did I get into this prison? How did I bury myself in this? Why did I? To be a big kid? Jesus I have no idea. In the hussle and bustle... in the onslaught of shells and harried screams of my day to life... in all the madness... I forgot to take care of myself. And in turn... I fear that that's really why, suddenly, and without warning or fanfare... I was unloved. Nobody's fault but my own. I just kept sinking... up to my knees, to where I could no longer walk out... up to my waist, up to my elbows to where I could no longer reach for help, up to my shoulders to where I could no longer hope... up to my eyes to where I could no longer mock myself, up to my nose to where I could breathe... but no longer see any fucking chance. And I just died swiftly bitterly and loudly in front of you... No small mystery you resented my grumpy ass. at least... I'm sure... none of that helped. Please come home. I love you. And I promise not to walk oblivious into quicksand anymore. It's not much of a love letter... It's not even a poem, it's a confession. I made my life SUCK without realizing. And built my prison around you. I got myself stuck, so selfishly, I put it on you to pull me out. Which was unfair... and it was more unfair to never notice at the time, that you were trying exactly that..

There's an empty bottle on the edge of the table, and an old baseball bat next to the bed. I woke again to my unfriendly ceiling. The things that come out of his mouth... that wide meandering crack I refuse to repair the gaping maw of self-criticism Maybe I'm just too fucking weird. Maybe I'm just too fucking nice. First fire drill of the morning. Your world is on fire old man, grab bottle, and tilt. Something black and silty falls out of the bottom. The dregs of my old life. Reminders of better time rejected like unwilled bile. ...or some exotic spice to cover the taste of ass and alchohol. You be the judge. I cup my head in my hands. The burning forest is catching up to me. I can't douse it. I can't outrun it. But I sure as hell can forget it. I reach into the emergency stash, what would be a sock drawer, and drown myself in bitter angry liquid. I may have forgot the fire, but the sky is still falling. I take a pill or six out of the cabinet and crush them under the edge of the bottle, a red-eyed, blurry stranger stares back when I swing the mirror shut again. Sweep, mix, pour, swallow. Dialate. Put on a helmet, deploy your umbrella. And everything's suddenly fine.

There's nothing wrong today. There are no mice in my ear. No last call. No piano playing softly in the corner. Absolutely nothing went wrong today. My apologies for being so uninteresting. My apologies for being so uninterested. Nothing worse than an apologetic narcissist. I'm sorry for not hating god today. I'm sorry for being so fucking average. I'm sorry my dad didn't molest me. I'm sorry your uncle didn't think I was hot. I'm so fucking sorry that I'm nobody to you. I'm sorry you would have never given me the time of the day. If not for a trick of the eye, wicked troll magic. I'm sorry I don't validate your existence. I'm sorry there's nothing wrong. And I still have the magnum loaded, and the gin unloaded. The quietest night in seven years. Sorry for not being exactly who you needed. I got what I deserved. I'm sorry it's nothing beautiful. Like a male underwear model falling backward silently arms out eyes closed off a highrise apartment into busy humming streets. Daylight. With plenty of pedestrians holding briefcases. With inferiority complexes about those assholes in armani and they're in men's warehouse. I'm sorry it had to end this way. With a bang instead of a whimper. The question... I forgot. The answer, only one. Only you.

Another blurry monday morning. Lacks flavor. Like dry coffee grounds. Wasted dawn on a dream. Wasted adolescence on an idea. I was braver then. No where to run. No martyr to hang on. Just a kind word, and a pat on the head. Finding a little solice in friends, family and love. Like a beggar finds in a newspaper during the first cold downfall of spring. Like a tails-up penny found but left. Sobering like any tiedie bitchslap. Wax and poison on the fruit. Embalming fluid in the cream. Powdered insects in the grain. Hands holding back the scream. Left hungover in a blind apartment. Armwrestling with a quadrapalegic for gas money. Finding myself losing myself to find myself in the strangest and most sacred places. Some as uncomfortable as the back of a volkswagon, others as natural as the pin at the bottom of a barrel or the top of a bottle. Just a new high in lows.

Put on your face darling. There are mirrors to break and breakfast to make. Ale and spuds, thimbles and mascara. Caught like a cockfighter in downtown LA. Somewhere in the size of flies and phalluses. Bring your table to the parlor, we'll have ourselves a day of beauty. Powders and silk. Scabs, nooses and rakes. Cherry flavored whisky vanilla lifestyles choked on a bleeding lonliness like no other man could make me feel. Momma's best. Daddy's first. Leather burns on thighs. Cotton burns on an adam's apple. Another white one, another blue one. Take two of these and call me in the morning.

Pulling the vein watching the throb the plip plip thlop So enthralled with the mechanics. The ruthless cold efficiency of it all. Faith in nowhere reason in nowhy. Taste of metal. Drips like a grapefruit. Fetish in the bound and balled. Hidden in sepia tones, grainy 8mm and oak closets. Of hotels and dust bunnies. Moldy mattresses. And true l.o.v.e. Of mystery stained sheets, of masked watchers of masterbating ticket holders. I run it through my hair. In a brief moment of triumph, I trace my filthy fingernail under my nostrils, the heady aroma makes my eyes flicker involuntarily, like pinned butterfly wings. To relive To relish To revive Just what exactly have I become? Whore? Murderer? Performer? Artist? Just what have I... Another voice pulling me gently to the dark of yet another closet. Will she be waiting for me there? Are you waiting for me there? My perfection. My goddess. My only. My masterpiece. Do you wait patiently, longing for the confines of what I have become? I've left the path. And fear I can't come back. Not this time. Not without you.

Pressing on my eyes hoping that the gateway will hold. Think I'll take a vacation to tahiti when I get back from the conference. Pictures of the end coming out like a bloody nose. Fickel little kids turning their toys in for ammunition. All this time spent in solitary, festering in dismay. Nothing but a hole and a crotch, and a crutch, and a torch to burn the leeches away. There was a way out but I lost the key. Never no more, only the idol almighty dollar. Tiny places in my skin to hold the razors and the needles. Nothing no more, the idol of internship, seeping sores and prozac martinis. Overcame by orgasms and snapshots spored by my epervesant bubbly personality. Overmold overrun overturned like runny eggs tried to leave hell and decided I'd rather rule the earth. but your god would have it his way. The only way through is down. can't find the way out The only way out is through. can't find the way in Only way in is out. Only way is out. there is no I There is no pinhole of light. only way down is in No echo at the end of the tunnel. Just a happy burnt offering. tied to the noose burnt to the cross skin blistering and peeling as it falls like the first day of summer like the fourth of july gunpowder smoke and flesh left too long to simmer. White teeth past blackened skin. Take this world. And lean it on me.

The bitter taste of grapefruit, when all I really wanted was a peach. A chorus of electronics. Humming softly, pulsing, regulating the moment I am to hear that it's over. I just don't love you anymore. There's someone else. The dog ate my phone. A mr. spell is the harbringer of my downfall. I just don't feel it anymore. There's too much going on. A dark room, exploding in psychodelic sorrowful light. Blues and electric yellows, spiraling orange, signifying nothing but the beat of a tune. An ambience I can no longer feel. The rhythm whispers to me. Right next to the tiny hairs on my ear. Cold. It's always so cold here... and so empty. Like so many liquor bottles left in the vanishing snow. I don't know. I don't know what went wrong. What I did wrong. What's wrong with me. I just know somehow it's my fault. I left the oven on too long. I bumped the soufle'. I payed for the abortion. I skipped on the bill. I got the wrong kind of grapefruit juice. When all I really wanted was something sweet. Maybe I'm just whithering away. Absent of the trinity. Mind. Heart. Body. Maybe I'm just...