Not In The Past

Looking forward from 30

Five minute free write, 11/09/11

WHen I sit and stare into your face and think about where you have been and where you will go I wonder what is happening to us and what parrallells we have between our own lives and so we just sit and stare and hum.  Singing songs about the garbage cans and letting my toes grow numb from putting presssure on the wrong part of the foot so that it falls asleep.  I dream of the city at night and I dream of empty desolate parking lots.  I dream of sobriety and drunkenness, of straightness and queerness and hunger and gluttony and pretention and earthiness.  Flying again, I veer away from the land over the water adn take a short trip to New York, where I hobnob with the sort od interesting and the cultured-enough-to-be-intewresting -but-not -snobbish.   Ah, wine.  I think I’ll have a glass and sit and stare and smoke a little before the colds come and the snows flie.  I sound like I am wise when I am grasping for ideas.  I think if music and I warp known songs into something else.  Does this sound familiar or is this a story.  I will just sit around


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