11.06.05  //:ernst turned in his grave:// (cont) ...conjured
memories from two years ago on the docks of some distant
city. boxes of tavernello wine, pesto & prosciutto paninis,
headphones plugged out the world, and plugged in miles davis'
kind of blue, while friend's sat nearby in (perhaps mildly)
stimulating discussion... lips moved- synched to the sound of
percussion and the wail of a melancholy trumpet. the scent of
bleach... my hands wear it like some repulsive & lingering
bodyspray. but damned if my apartment isn't now fresh to
death & minty f**king clean hehe...

reliving a good memory can be food for the soul... reliving the
wrong ones can be be utter poison. two football games watched,
and several power naps later..a melancholy trumpet still wails
in my now pounding head. i need a shower...and a cold beer

...light rain


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