I'm wide awake, it's morning.*
The new day rises like thunder in my non-hungover eyes for a change. It feels good. My thoughts are clear for the first time in a while. Why do I feel the need to fuck myself up every couple of days? I can tell myself a million times that I’m not doing it anymore but usually 48 hours later I’m back at it.
Sundown. The first shot of bourbon is reaching my stomach. I feel my body react in the usual manner, the dull burn of booze penetrating the walls of my gut, the sudden temperature rise,...
brooklyn, new york city (where they paint murals of biggie "in cash we trust" make his ghetto-fabulous life look pretty- what a pity)
like some sort of inanimate life-long sausage, i lie inert like on a grocer's shelf. my body: it...