Last night after a CD release party I drank a few swigs of absinthe and was taken back to my room in the back of a pickup truck. I decided I would become one with the art I keep all over my couch-bed, Korean Jason's old bed. I throw books and papers and cds on it all the time, but I have never slept there. So without moving anything off of the extremely cluttered couch-bed, I opened a window, lit a cigarette and assumed the sleeping position while listening to loud music. After enjoying the idea of sleeping in a bed of so many ideas wore off, I decided it was probably in my best interest to throw up, or at least drink a few pints of water. I hobbled over to the sink and drained out a few squirts of licorice tasting see-through liquid. I tried to get a little more out before I crashed back onto the couch-bed.
I black out. A few minutes later I come to and find chunks of chicken and potatoes all around my head. There are damp spots without chunks on a few blankets and the pillows my mom bought me when she came to visit, so people would be able to sit in my room more cozily. They reek of black licorice with the strength of a pound of black jellybeans, or absinthe. A pocket of air inside my stomach pushes its way out of my body in a horrible burp. The sink surrounds my face and I throw up chicken and beer. The digested chicken scraps clog the drain. I consider the feeling of puke overflow splashing on my naked feet and legs as I continue to throw up. Someone with a strong fist knocks at the door. I am not even fazed. "Yea fucking right," I think. I would not open that door for anyone in the world. They make it to the fourth or fifth series of door pounds. When I'm done, I turn Ben Gibbard laptop pop down a notch and begin sleeping this drunk off.
Spring break was complete freedom on the beach. Becoming one in a group of many 18-24 year olds stumbling across powdery sand, wearing minimal amounts of clothing, completed the ocean experience. The sun was hot and I loved lying in the soft warmth of the sand, meditating to the sound of the ocean waves.
Though a few nights this week were fun, the days were miserable. Everyone's body was in rehab and nobody seemed to be in a good mood. I want to move past that, maybe by partying with my new freshman friends I went to Florida with.
I guess my Fred Hampton creative piece wasn't really a creative piece at all, but a news report. Despite criticism, I liked the way my news report turned out. But it's gone now so I think I'll replace it. Check it out Omaha friends!
I used the phrase "becoming one" twice in this blog, which means that must be something I like to do.
Poet's Best Friend
Poem, keep what I love. Be my treasure trove of youth and spontaneity. Envision every absurd kissing booth kiss and the girls who wanted it on the lips. Let me taste the smooth chocolate ice cream with marshmallow topping we bought with the money we made. Drop freshly planted daises in front of the houses of the cutest freshman girls; ring their doorbells, and run away jumping and screaming. Describe to your sweetheart how hysterically your little cousins laugh and the raspberry sound you make when you blow into their belly buttons like balloons. Savor the unsure smile she makes just before you blow into hers.
Be kind to the hero of my poem. Protect my tender tendencies. Be gentle with the agonizing pull of braces rubber bands. Remember the smiles braved through three years of sharp orthodontic pain. Teach me that pain is a worthwhile feeling. Inspire me the way astronauts are inspired. Bless me with the will to travel to the farthest star in the sky while never leaving my two flat feet. Shoot the stars into my pen ink trail.
Poem, show love like Pagliacci. Pour out heart-wincing music under a clown's armor. Break my heart at the right time in the right places because I'll never learn to break it by myself. Show me you are proud like my father, who has measured my height on the same wall since Kindergarten, reminding me that I have grown. Poem, cry for me when I don't think I should. Ask me what I think is important. Keep what I love.