the divine hangover

dopamine inhibitors fully ingested, slack-jawed like a yokel, light piercing through a basement of an acquaintance, not really talking as much as filling the silence with useless sound and with this i decide to be homeward bound. pounds all around, a nod, perhaps a wink and out into the big bright world, purple sheeted and veins pulsing from my eyelids covering everything. every creaking step, all the dust and dry dead leaves leaping and flying, whirling around at my feet, blades of grass wet with dew and me on my long walk home.

fugazi is in my head. Ian and Guy are in my head saying; 

"i'm so tired. barely see my breath, surrounded, by jealousy and death." I can't remember the second verse so i just rewind back to the beginning and sing with them.

uphill's a struggle, morbid struggle. in my hamstrings i feel all the grit and tenchun {sic} and there is a swelling sensation, boiling into my knees. Full House feels close, and it is, so i walk up to Alamo Square park. I'm moving so slow that the little man inside says, "move you, fuck." 

There is hope on a hilltop. I arrive at the top of the park as the moon sets on the pacific to my right and the sun rises over the Oakland hills to my left. I just stand there atop the park, letting my eyes dilate from the 7 am sun, dopamine flow shot, grime beneath low nails, a sudden shake out the neck via the jugular, sweaty hands that clench, steam and beauty rise off my tattooed back, breakneck speed is now draining through my sinus cavity, chest aches into nothing, all my leftover glory drowned knowing that 8 am is a bad bedtime. soundless forestation, wet dirt bonding with my slipons, not a sound or a murmur, till this nice old lady asks me if i saw the full moon set and I say,
"why yes, it was lovely."

a first; my first moonset of recent memory.

I look back at Full House and I can picture the whole family in there. I can see John Stamos counseling DJ on how to handle her rapidly developing breasts and the Olsen twins getting advice from Bob Saget on why its unfair to pee on her sisters bed. I think about TGIF and all of my innocence now lost in the subdued underground futility i find now on friday nights fueled by chemical dependence. i need the uncles to give me a talking to about my self destructive habits, but they're long gone. How sad...

the divine hangover is upon me and I know this because the shudders say so. "bluuuuhhhhhaaaaaallljahhh"
work with me.

everything is still purple but the heavy ache sets over everything waiting for my body to go horizontal. mr. 21 hayes moves his fat ass up the hill with that beaming, pinging repetitious sound buzzing up. i slide down the park grass, on my flat ass ruining my jeans. i hop on the empty bus and sit at the back waiting patiently for me to strengthen my resolve to stop this nonsense.

EPILOGUE
"...this epic problem's not a problem for me
and inside i know i'm broken
but i'm working as far as you can see
and outside it's all production

it's all illusion
set scenery
i've got this epic problem

this epic problem's not a problem for me"
-fugazi