Friday, October 2, 2009

Puta la verga

Sitting now. Watching the fucking FIFA World cup for the 23rd time. Not even the actual live event -- the xbox version.
A cold chill cruises through the room, courtesy of the swamp cooler sitting outside in the hallway. My throat is still burning from the habanero sauce I mixed with the michelada and clamato before pouring a cool thin can of Corona Extra -- the kind they only have in small liquor stores in Mexico.
Everybody loves a drunk.
How many people are sitting alone on this warm Friday evening? How many are out running the streets? What am I doing.
Pop this fucking valium. Drift away to a better place. Find peace on this comfortable wooden desk drawer that I am sitting on because there are no more chairs.
15 minutes pass.
20 minutes.
My ass starts to melt over the seat like a molting marshmellow. Extreme comfort. Valium moves through you so smoothly you don't even know its happening. Its like a lot of drugs. Your conciousness alters slowly and without any sharp signs. Its not like you just sit up and your muscles suddenly droop and you fall to the floor in a pile of relaxation.
Cuando uso valium, penetra en tu cuerpo muy lento. Pensando horita. Necesito tener control otra vez. Calma. Calma palma. Relajate. Pensar claro.
Juan esta jugando su juego como un adicto de drogas. Esta loca chica esta ensenadome espanol.
Smoking now. Reefer. Dope. Crack. Coke. Mescaline. It doesn't matter. I am against drugs. Always have been. Always will be.
Back to basics.
Back to square one. I was never instructed how to write in spanish. A la bestia, a la puta.
Too comfortable in this seat. The world is drifting away slowly. sllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
Wake up.
Back to the Fifa world cup. Does anyone in this room know what is happening. Does anyone notice I'm drifting off here.
Too involved in the game.
Futbol is an international pasttime, except in the U.S. But I can bend it like Beckham. I can do it with the best of them. A la puta, no te cagaste.
So many screams spilling out of the night sky. This imaginary soccer game. The luke-warm wind of the swamp cooler. It must be running out of water. Eyes drooping.
This seat is so comfortable. the curves of the drawer are melting beneath me. Or am I melting over it.
How long has it been since I took this fukking pill. I should have broke it in half.
Sleepy now. Finally.


  1. Last night while sculpting, I drank half a bottle of Fairbanks Port wine, you know the kind you buy at Ralph's for 8 bucks. I'm hungover as a mutha and your blog post has relaxed the hell out of me so much that I'm actually contemplating on faking a sprained ankle just so I can go home early, take a nap, and drink the other half of the bottle. Cheers.


  2. Robert you are such a sedative addict. And sex addict.