EVE

It's like standing up at a bar

and grabbing your coat and saying, there is too much bitching sadness here.

Sometimes it just has to be done. Sometimes you have to be the first one to leave the bar. Sometimes you have to take those extra cigarettes, that cold air, that round, because somehow your complete control and volition over the whole scene validates your hold on this part of it.

I'm going to believe in fate and see where it gets me. I'm going to lay my life out flat, vulnerable, rained on. Whatever the radio tells me, whatever static breathes out from the telephone wires, whatever cold subway pole graymetal leanpost, vodka and OJ and vodka and OJ and vodka and OJ and double vodka and OJ. Love this happy hour and this weight and this sweetness that makes me aware that my cognizance of being a chemical thing on this planet is in my veins after all, it is this skin and muscle and somehow pulled out of the muck and deadness thinkinthing here drunk on the subway platform home!!! Hallay fucking loo-hah!

But after all, it is Christmas, it is a time of miracles! Oh the hurricane of blood and molecules that I grip with cut hands and ground teeth!

EXT: large grassy airfield. The sound of the world ending!