The highball glass had old lipstick on it but Donna had waited too long for service (double vodka & ice) and didn't bother to protest. The waitress (gel fingernails with glitter polish, sullen kohled eyes, open-backed shirt revealing a sleek brown back) was already drifting away, and the din(more) of the room moved into her wake, cutting off any polite demurral.
These places were all the same. $16 cocktails in Pottery Barn glasses. Too-hot-to-shit waitresses, broken hot water tanks, and the threat of the sanitary board always looming despite the glitz. Donna looked tiredly at Martin's lips talking. She calculated the hours left before bed, the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream and the strategies of maintaining tidy drunkeness in a bar with such slow service.
The tinkle of glassware was almost as loud as the music and across the table, Martin droned on-and-on. Donna lifted the glass and drained it in the decorous way she had: lips pursed daintily at the rim, eyes meeting those of the man across the table. Her wide-eyed grey gaze, so attentive, hiding her thoughts the way a thin span of ice will hide a treacherous current. Martin stared back at her and spoke with the deliberation of one accustomed to monologues. Perhaps he had never met a woman yet who didn't care about his "new technology" start-up. Maybe he couldn't tell how efficiently she drained 2 ounces of vodka, leaving ice-cubes to tinkle harmlessly against each other when she clacked her glass down to the table, the poison drained. Men were a science, a boring science. Life was math, and love a ledger. Donna tallied her score daily, her veins gradually hardening with Russian elixers, cracking ice-cubes under her molars as she daydreamed about sleep and wealth, and calculating life's unsecured returns.(less)
like the rising and receding tide, the heartache, the confusion, the fury over this fucking injustice comes in and out, freezing my core and then slipping out of me, letting me thaw for a bit, for a bit. and in this fucked up time amidst this fucking moral apocalypse(more) thats careening out of control in ever direction and dimension possible, in this macrocosmic catastrophe, in the face of this massive wall of booming shit, still, all i want is to be able to lie next to you and feel your body heat encouraging mine and process the absurdity of the world in silence, in your presence. in your space. wrapped in your aroma. just with you.
my bones are hollow and when i walk, they make music.
my thoughts are hollow, too, and when i think, i want to kill myself.
strings, frayed at the end, find there way into everything. between every tooth and stuck to every wicked curved nail. you pull, hard. the ribbons come undone and suddenly you can see through the fabric (of life?) and its all lines and corners and curves, all of the religions and philosophies and sciences of the world float before you, a lifetime. little grids encapsulate the separate units, breaking them down for you visually so that even though your brain cannot fathom what it is you are made witness to, your eyes can digest it properly, and perhaps one day the memories embedded in their cells will make it to your brain and slip into your consciousness like the ice cold tide and bring you back to life again, because its been so long.
i cant remember the last time i spoke sincerely with someone.
i need you so badly.
the stars are slowly leaving us; no one knows why. (less)
King: "I am taken away! Strange and large man, to where have I been captured?"
Roger: "To an unnamed base in the Arizona desert."
King: "Arizona? Fellow man, you have taken me, the crown of Zxylane, from his throne! Do you not understand the consequences of this?"
Roger: "We(more) do, but no need to worry. Science has backed us up on my decision."
King: "Science? This is treason!"
Roger: "Ah. Treason. Well I'm sorry to tell you that you are under law of the United States of America. It's the year 2057 and we have taken you from your, uh, 'throne' in 1465."
King: "Joker! I am thoroughly impressed! My Lord, do say more!"
Roger: "It is a time machine, sir."
King: It seems but wardrobe! I do say, this has been a magnificent trick! Take me to my room and I'll grant you with gold for a quarter of this century!"
Roger: "A quarter of a century of gold? Unlimited?"
King: "Infinite as our land allows."
Roger: "So let's go!"
King: "Excellent! Back to my kingdom! You, sir, do follow me to my desk."
Roger: "Yes, my King."
King: "So as I promised, a quarter of a century of gold. Let us write, 'I, King of Zxylane, shall grant a quarter century's worth of gold, beginning in the year 2057-"
Roger: "The year is 1465."
King: "And I promised the gold when we were in the year 2057."
Roger: "You ass!"
King: "Guards! Arrest this man and put him in the dungeon for abduction of royalty and treason, and do not unchain him until the year 2057. Also watch out for anyone who dares use 'science' in my kingdom and have them arrested and executed for treason!"(less)