Thursday, April 2, 2015

Snatches II

I'm running on the bad fumes of a tainted fuel.  I promise myself once again that if I make it to the end of the week, I am done, that I will live a life of purity, of gentle exercise and pure foods and strange teas.  I will read and listen to music and watch art t.v. and leave the crazy world to others.  Just give me the luck and the endurance to see this through. 

Then. . . then, oh lord, I will leave the anxiety and drama behind. 

A younger man, of course, would laugh at what I think of as "too much."  Not all, but many.  I am a worrier and a momma's boy and a fatal romantic.  Walking through the Devil's Garden is exciting once or twice, maybe. . . but I have been "blessed" to travel long, hard stretches without seeming end. 

Even in high school, what the other kids did scared me.  I was always the first to go home, to escape what I viewed as a twisted madness of sex and drugs and rock and roll.  My body was my temple.  I became a vegetarian my senior year.  I read and explored the natural world.  I wanted to be a marine biologist.  I wanted a girl I couldn't quite make out in the distance. 

It is not age.  I promise.  Almost, anyway. 

Here's a picture from last night's brothel shoot.  Here's the drink:

I still have a bottle of the real and true absinthe sent to me years ago by a friend of the blog when he was deejaying in Eastern Europe.  At the time, the making of it there was still legal or legal again, I'm not sure which.  I wish I had a case of it and some opium, too.  No. . . wait. . . .

I need a monastery.

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