water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.......

so you never know what you got till it's gone. an old cliche if there every was one, but then again cliches are there for a reason. yesterday my water was shut off. sure i could blame this person and that person, i could blame bureaucratic bullshit, but in reality i have no one to blame but myself. i haven't paid the water bill in three months. and yesterday a hapless worker came to my house, closed the valve and put a padlock on it. simple as that. i'd actually paid the bill, but i guess i dropped in the mail a few days too late. oh well. the other day i spent the night at my girls house. we had a wonderful meal. homemade beef stroganoff. watched a movie and then settled in for the night. i got up the next morn, brushed my teeth, had a cup of coffee and made my way home. got home, and went about my days activities. i phoned several business associates, made plans and then went to work to get more things done. a simple plan. go to work, make my arrangements for the day, return home, shit, shower and shave, then return for my tuesday night behind the bar. serving drinks for the brave souls who ventured into the dark deserted neighborhood for a drink on a tuesday night. i arrived home at dusk to find a red flyer on my door. damn! maybe it's just my final warning. no worry i sent the check off in the mail yesterday. once i arrived on my doorstep, my fears were realized. they shut my water off. my plans were dashed. it was getting dark and cold. i was looking forward to a modest meal, and a shower. to cleanse my body and my soul. oh well i've been camping before, no big deal. it'll all be straightened out with a phone call, and i'll have water in the morning. one phone call to the water dept and i discover that i'll be with out water for a few more days, unless i want to go in person to pay the bill that i had previously paid but they had yet to receive. drats foiled again! oh well, i haven't done anything to get dirty, i can go one more day with out a shower, i can wash my face and hands at work. on the way home from work i got a can of soda, and bottle of water. the water for myself in the morning, and the soda to mix with my bourbon. when i woke the dogs bowl was empty, well he got a bottle of fine spring water to drink and i got the half can of flat cola to wash the night away. but this really sucks. i have bourbon, some flat soda, and no water. and all i want to do is wash my hands. a glass of water would be nice but i really want to wash my hands. a simple task. but yet unattainable. i use a little water left over from a pitcher in the fridge and complete the task. but as i was doing so, being careful to not waste a drop, i think of all the water i have wasted. the times the faucet dripped and i was too lazy to get up and turn it off. of the time i stood in the shower for long after i needed. or flushed an empty toilet just to hear it flush before i used it. of just the other day when i filed the sink to soak some pots, or just let the water run to rinse the pot instead of just washing it and being done. cliches are tools and examples of life. they tell us what we already know but are too wrapped up with ourselves to listen. so the old cliche, you don't know what you got till it's gone? it's true. it's a truism. i have three faucets in my home, and not a one of them works. i took them for granted. i took for granted that every time i turn the handle, clean cool water would run forth. but not today. today all i have is a quickly emptying bottle of bourbon, three days worth of beard, and dirty hands. i hope i don't have to shit soon.

i'd forget my own birthday if it wasn't on my drivers licence

i can't even recall the number of times you've given me your blog address, i always seem to loose it before i can get home. can i get again?

West Texas neon and grease

It didn’t take long for Patrick to find a job. Years of hopping from job to job had given him the experience to find work almost anywhere he laid his head. This time he found a job in a small motorcycle shop. He worked long hours, at first it was to make up on lost cash from the road trip. Then to find a more permanent living arrangement. After only a few weeks in the motel, he had grown weary of the old man and his disapproving looks when he returned at night from his long days in the shop covered in grease and grime that would turn to money on Friday. Of his leering eyes while the young woman went about her daily activities of laundry, shopping, and lounging about the room. Soon they found a small garage apartment. A perfect arrangement indeed. There was enough room to park the truck and a bike away from prying eyes at night, and enough space above to keep from running over each other while they stayed in.
After finding suitable living conditions, Patrick began working the long hours for the extra cash to finally rebuild his bike. He spent many a night when not working on customers bikes working on his own. Rebuilding, repairing and refinishing parts cast off by others as unusable or undesirable, yet still more than satisfactory for his meager needs. What he did not need he traded or sold for the parts he needed to purchase new.
As time progressed the bike began to take shape and form. It was no longer a rolling, broken pile of rusty, ragged parts, but a rolling functioning motorcycle. Not necessarily the show bike he wanted, but he could soon put his face back into the wind. He could twist the throttle and blow his troubles away with the exhaust gasses. He had finally regained the freedom he had desired, even as short lived as it would become.
Soon the young lady disapproved of his late nights in the shop. Patrick was hardly ever home, and when he was, he was tired from long hours in the shop. The same long hours that put a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She grew weary of sitting in the apartment unable to find a job. Soon the magic was lost. She began making friends at the nearby bar. Soon she was spending more time away from the tiny, sparsely furnished apartment returning to bask in the light of a jukebox and a neon signs. Men began to take notice of her again. For a while she resisted, but eventually she fell prey to temptation. It was a man who didn’t have dirt under his nails, or grease stained hands. He was a normal man who spent long hours in the bar that she was beginning to call home, instead of working on his bike or hot rod. A man who had a job and provide her with drinks and fine food. The same man who took his own bike to Patrick for repairs.
Patrick came home one night to find a note laying on the kitchen counter. It read “ thanks for the ride, Nina”

10/3

shots of jager and empty glasses of water
living out of an empty tip jar
bills past due
water, phone and electric getting cut off
drunken posts about nothing.
longing to love
long to live
a round of shots
jager running low
put another bottle on the chiller
and pour me another round.
fuck it! thought it was time to crawl out of the garage,
guess i was wrong.
i'll go back now.
to tools i know how to use
metal i know how to work
machines that know my hands
the cool touch of metal
warming in my hand
a strong 4/4 from the speakers
drowning out my thoughts of flesh
sharpening my thoughts of
grease, steel and oil.
tolorences and tourques
spinning, whirling parts to keep my hands from.
things that make the world go away.
a machine doesn't care if i'm cold or tired
doesn't care if i'm drunk or sober
doesn't care if i'm hungry or full
it only wants to work
it olny wants to spin and whir
breath fire and turn it to power
FOR ME
it only knows what i want it to know
it doesn't want to be friends
it wants to me
****************************************************************
she loves me
she hates me
when i don't show her enought attention she gets cranky
when i treat her too harsh she falls apart
she tried to kill me
she has saved my life
she loves to be touched
she loves to take care of me
she bleeds for me
she longs for me
she loves me
so much she wants to take my life
so that we will never part
i thought i had gotten rid of her for life
but she came back
she can not let me go
and i her
she lives for me
i and for her

the truth does sting a bit, doesn't it?

You Know You Drink Too Much When...

Your doctor finds traces of blood in your alcohol stream. The back of your head keeps getting hit by the toilet seat. The parking lot seems to have moved while you were in the bar When you go to donate blood and they ask what proof? You think the Four Basic Food Groups are Caffeine, Nicotine, Alcohol, and Hotties. You have a "happy hour" at home When you are sober, people ask you what's wrong? You spend all night making a board game called Alcohol Land Although you drove home the other night you can't remember how you got home or where you parked your car "Hi ocifer. I'm not under the affluence of incohol." Your favorite drink is ethanol. "Why does everybody think I have a prinking droblem?! - I don't have a prinking droblem!" "I don't have a drinking prob..pleb..prub.. *hic* Pash me another, tarbender." You can spend a whole night holding up walls to prevent their (your) collapse. You instinctively know where the alcohol is in a store you've never been in before Clubs raise their drink prices because you haven't attended in a while You think beer and ramen make a good breakfast You frequently urinate outdoors. When you first wake up and you're afraid you're gonna die and a half-hour later you're afraid you won't. You fall asleep taking a dump. You believe that spilling a beer is alcohol abuse. You go to the john to hurl, but you take your beer with you. You find it's easier to study drunk. You're on a first name basis at the detoxification center. Beer ads make sense. You wake up to the sound of your dog drinking out of the toilet and you're so dry that it sounds mighty thirst quenching. You wake the next morning and start drinking a few of the half empties left sitting around the room. The space on your driver's license that tells your eye color reads "bloodshot". You fall down a flight of steps and DON'T spill a drop of your beer. You mix your cocktails by the litre. You grow a beard because it stops beer that's running down your chin. You put off urinating in hopes of reaching that near orgasmic Zen-like piss. When the bottle says 20 standard drinks but you only get 5. You spell Alcohol with a capital letter out of respect You lose arguments with inanimate objects. You have to hold onto the lawn to keep from falling off the earth Your career won't progress beyond Senator from Massachusettes. 24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case - coincidence?? - I think not! Two hands and just one mouth... - now THAT'S a drinking problem! "Norm!" is what they say when you enter the bar. You can focus better with one eye closed The parking lot seems to have moved while you were in the bar You fall off the floor. You discover in the morning that liquid cleaning supplies have mysteriously disappeared. Hey, 5 beers has just as many calories as a burger, screw dinner! Beer: it's not just for breakfast anymore. The glass keeps missing your mouth. Vampires get woozy after bitting you. At AA meeting you begin: "Hi, my name is... uh..." Your idea of cutting back is less seltzer. You wake up in the bedroom, your underwear is in the bathroom, you fell asleep clothed. - hmm. Every night you're beginning to find your roomate's cat more and more attractive. If you're on a diet, you cut back your food calories to allow for alcohol calories. "Take me drunk, I'm home!" You wake up naked lying in the corner of a bus depot. You drink to get over a hangover. You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends who drink too much.

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going insane

i decided that i'm going to grab mu whiskey bottle and go crawl into my toolbox for awhile. if you need me i'll be out it in the garage.

you talking to me?

this is the part where i go insane.

broken heart 

my jeans

blood, piss and cum,
vodka, whiskey and rum.
human grease and bits of food,
grease and oil, very crude
my jeans have become.
things in my jeans, some
times comes out in the wash.
other times the paryt is just a memory.
a torn cuff,
the waiste gettting rough,
a stain, or spot of bleach
sand in my pocket from the beach
my jeans.
they clothe me,
protect me,
save me,
comfort me,
hold my things and my body.
bloody, bruised and broken.
happy, sad and spoken,
they tell the life i live.
human grease, blood and rum.
axle grease and cum.
today is wash day.
stains wash away,
memories fade.
scars heal.
glory last forever.

with apologies to music.

a silent phone,
and no pool.
a pet ,
half pack of cigarettes,
and empty bed.
a full couch,the remote is mine,
but out of reach.
dirty dishes in the kitchen,
waiting to be cleaned.
and dirty thoughts,
waiting to be fulfilled.
the computer light
filling the empty room.
visions of girls dance on the screen.
but they are out of reach also.
paint smearing, mind reeling
whisky getting warm on a cool night.
cigarettes burning carelessly in the ashtray.
thoughts on a screen,
thoughts beyond means,
words in my head,
while laying in my bed,
with empty hands and dirty sheets
the clock a constant reminder,
of time spent alone.
freedom to act, is not with out consequence.
freedom to be alone.
freedom to stay away
freedom
freedom
girls winking
girls flirting
drinking for free
teasing
taunting
holding out
wanting, but pushing away
giving in.
gone at first light.

When you call out my name..........

You know me by my name, i know you by your drink.
young pretty girls drink light beer and vodka tonics,
young men do shots of whiskey and schnapps between their beers.
old men drinks scotch and draft beer.
old women drink wine or drinks with simple names.
i hate you all.
for different reasons of course. but i still hate you. because your loud,
your rude, you don't tip, and you don't know what your talking about.
your talking to hear yourself talk and to
make your self feel important.
why on earth do you want to talk to me?
is your life so un-interesting that you find delight in my
mundane life?
Fuck You, Pay Me!

thoughts

"Somebody at one of these places asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like it's looks, you make a pet out of it."
- Charles Bukowski

it don't matter where i'm coming from, it's where i'm going to.

all the things you had to say
are now the things you take away
empty beds and lonely dreams
lonely nights and hollow screams
misunderstanding
miscommunication
separation
i misunderstood your communication
i thought things were resolved, demarcation
you tell me not to let go
as you run away, slow
miscommunication
yelling
screaming
talking
holding
caressing
moaning
a first kiss
and a last embrace
shining eyes and broken hearts
faces with smiles
now just miles
of separation
hold me now
touch me now
too close now
too tight now
time to go now

Devils Daughter

I remeber when the devils daughter called me by MY name. but it's ok.

blah

another monday home alone.

What if?

I live in fear of "what if?" more often than not I do things because I don't want to regret. I live in fear of being 90 years old, sitting in a chair with a blanket and a cup of coffee, wondering what if?. It is one of the reasons I keep my TV on CNN. I don't want to miss anything. For the same reason I tend to also do things I think will hurt me. Because then I know if they will hurt me or not. I won't wonder. But I still do wonder. And I drive myself crazy thinking about it. what if.......

Texas sunsets in the eye of the storm.......

I stood by the window last night watching the approaching storm. I told my few remaining customers that they had better head home if the didn't want to be caught out in the rain. They scoffed and rambled on about how the weathermen have not predicted an accurate storm in weeks, it'll blow over they said, nothing to worry about they said. I told them I don't watch the weather and I don't listen to the weathermen. I watch the radars and look outside. To the north the sky was black, grey and green. The sign of an impending Texas storm. The kind of clouds that bring night at 4pm. To the south were long rolling clouds. The sun washing them in hues of purples, oranges and reds. The sky around them a vibrant blue. All giving no impression of the destruction to follow the sun shrinking into the night.
moments of eternity later I was alone in the bar when the wind began to howl. The windows rattled and the building shook. A fine mist covered the ground first and then the rain began to fall. Hard drops pounding the hot pavement. The wind so fierce the rain appeared to be coming straight out of the ground. The doors creaked and groaned, popping open and slamming shut in one fell swoop. The ceiling quivered. The walls trembled. The driving rain found it's way in to every crack and crevice of the old building, and poured thru the roof. The lights sizzled with every flash of lighting and flickered with every crash of thunder. I stood next to the door of the walk-in cooler, waiting for the ceiling to collapse or disappear. I didn't know which, but waited none the less. I made busy with mopping water off of the floor and putting buckets under the leaks. Anything to keep my mind off of my possible doom.
and as suddenly as it started, it ended. The rain began to fall from the sky instead of rising out of the earth. The lightning and thunder began to move off to the distance instead of over my head. The wind died to a whisper. Every thing was calm. The sky broke, revealing deep blues and blacks, a few stars shown thru the remaining wisps of clouds. And my evening returned to normal. Pouring cold beers and shots of whiskey, gin-n-tonics and shots of jager for the customers that had braved the end of the storm to seek refuge from the blackness left when the storm took their electricity. And I sat and listened, like I do most nights, to their stories of woe and excitement. But tonight it was a shared story. We had made thru another angry Texas storm. Together.

Yesterday........

My grandmother died yesterday. The hospital screwed up and did not put her Do Not Resuscitate order on her chart, and they brought her back. Now she is on life support. it is not at all what she wanted. now the children have to make the decision to "pull the plug". good thing they don't ask me, cuz i'll tell them to let her go. I'm supposed to go to the hospital today, but I don't know if I'll make it. The petty bullshit has already started. my aunts are already arguing on how to divid stuff up. my sister is hurt because they are only dividing the estate 4 ways, when she had five children. al my sister wants is a piece of jewlry.

update: she's actually getting better. i've been told she is responsive and is being taken off of morphine. so we'll se what happens........

sorry miss jackson

i didn't mean to make your daughter cry, i apoligize a thousand times......

it's the little things....

i've been wondering for the last few days why something so damn small as a flea, can cause such high levels of itching and burning. you'd think something so small might not even be any cause for any atttention at all. but damn flea bites are annoying. stupid fleas.