Jameson and Gingers

Desperation can sing such a sweet melody and I’ll be damned if I’ll deny myself something that I foolishly believe is my right. It’s not of course, and that would be why I stare away at the ceiling with thoughts of days past delusions of such grand and forgotten proportion. Romantic ideals are difficult to live up to.

Wonder is all I can do and at the same time the last thing that I would ever want to wish upon anyone. This is my penance or something of the sort. It has to be. It can’t not be, right?

So why am I here with an aching head trying to string together some shapes that make sound in your head? What it really boils down to is the understanding that my fantasy appears to be constantly better than anything that could actually come to be. I’m not ashamed or disappointed, although I am both of those things. I am simply caught in the most beautiful brainwashing scheme that one could ever devise. It’s all my own creation and although many see a monster, I see something beautiful. And I see this again and again and again and again until the roll of film runs out at which point I close my eyes and it plays before my eye lids. I honestly couldn’t tell you if that has happened or not yet but the possibility is always there for anything and everything.

But look at me, because I’ve got all the moves. I’m a smooth talker and a charmer and I go home by myself through the empty aching streets. I wake to find that none of the answers are there because not a person has asked a question besides myself and all I can and am doing consists of shouting and hooting and standing outside with a cigarette, daydreaming that all the things that plague me will be solved as someone turns the street corner.

But for all of this charm, the boy remains in his boxers writing nonsense that no one will see, least of all anyone who can do a damn about it. I’ll keep wandering or something like that. Vague encounters to feast of flesh will get me by until I can stand apart from all this or further apart as I already stand with myself and to myself and by myself.

So go ahead sweetheart, pour me another and I’ll spend a few moments trying to make you laugh. My apologies friend, was this lady your company? I do apologize, just let me get her all riled and wild and then send her of to only have thoughts of me. It is my gift to share the curse that I have, but in the meantime, I say another round for me and my friends as we all march towards inevitable graves that will be marked and cost anyone left alive who cares about what we did quite the sum of money.

I bid you fare the well with a few more words that will mean the same as those above which is nothing, of course. I wish only to have a wish other than those I carry around with me. That is a lie and a terrible one at that. I imagine I could carry on like this until the end of time or the end of my time and the difference between the two is still to hazy to make out. I swear to you know, I’ll die in this place with this heart and there’s nothing that should be done about that. In the meantime, I’ll just crunch the numbers.


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