06-24-2013, 07:09 PM
You hold the bottle close, and its rigid edges give you a measure of solidity, imparts a brotherly sense of definition. If this bottle can hold it together, contain all this rich and smokey booze, then why can't you? So hold that bottle close, press it to the side of your face as you sit on the stoop, then roll the bottle over so that you stare at the world through its prismatic whole. Tinct the world aquamarine, watch the faces as they walk on by, sliding like Dali clocks as they distort through the walls of the bottle. Ah, life! Life! Each and every one of you lonely fucks, alive and alone and trying to stay lit till the darkness should come forth and steal your souls down into each and every grave.
Take that bottle. Uncork it. Resist the urge to toss that cork away, resist the ebullient carefree gesture, and instead simply tilt the bottle back, allow its contents to gurgle and slide down your gullet. Ah! Wildfire, come scorch my throat, come sear my soul, come give me that lightning kick to the back of my skull. Yes, that's the good stuff, right there, right there my dear, come now, come.
Set the bottle down on your knee like a good little child. Set it on your knee, and look out at the street once more. Look up and down, left and right. The world, it passes you by. It passes you by, and none will look at you, none meet your eye, none stop to shake hands, to smile and say hello. You're alone, here on the street, alone, wherever you go, as if you were surrounded by an invisible plague, an immaculate contagion that acts as a buffer between you and everything else. No matter how fast you move, you can never leave behind your zone of solitude, so why fight it, why move fast?
Why move at all?
Just sit and drink, and admire the world in all its wretched sultry gorgeous filthy beauty.
Take that bottle. Uncork it. Resist the urge to toss that cork away, resist the ebullient carefree gesture, and instead simply tilt the bottle back, allow its contents to gurgle and slide down your gullet. Ah! Wildfire, come scorch my throat, come sear my soul, come give me that lightning kick to the back of my skull. Yes, that's the good stuff, right there, right there my dear, come now, come.
Set the bottle down on your knee like a good little child. Set it on your knee, and look out at the street once more. Look up and down, left and right. The world, it passes you by. It passes you by, and none will look at you, none meet your eye, none stop to shake hands, to smile and say hello. You're alone, here on the street, alone, wherever you go, as if you were surrounded by an invisible plague, an immaculate contagion that acts as a buffer between you and everything else. No matter how fast you move, you can never leave behind your zone of solitude, so why fight it, why move fast?
Why move at all?
Just sit and drink, and admire the world in all its wretched sultry gorgeous filthy beauty.