2:35 in the morning, thank you VERY much

Posted: June 21, 2011 in Dark, Musings, Night, Nihilism, Rave
Tags:

At 1:52 I struggled to force a stubborn key into the broken lock of my front door, slamming my shoulder in futility against the oxidized copper in an attempt to loosen the lock from its nest. Nothing gave. To the front door I shambled without care for the irises, crushing a terracotta statue beneath my feet. The back door did not yield to my key; a different lock. I stumbled to the back gate, pushing it to the side without a care and scraping past the loose bits of free weights left behind by a forgetful housemate and a rusted out old bicycle; I rounded the cobbled-together stones of the walkway and jumped up the steps of the wooden deck. I tried to squeeze through the thin opening of the back sliding door left open a crack for the cat to come and go to no success. Contemplated the costs of a broken window.
No matter. Try and try again. The door gave way against brute force and my determined knee, smashing inward with a resounding crack that left me shocked and still for a moment, standing in the moonlit doorway without much thought for my next move. My uneasy steps guided me to the bedroom; my cat looped around my ankles in a somewhat delightful figure eight as I removed my clothes.
Naked, I attached myself to the greasy leather of the chair with all the ease of velcro, edging the shuffle button on my iTunes to start a Rolling Stones song. Honky Tonk Women, I think. I left the whimsical button on; I love to live dangerously.
My browser started in a fever, flickering onto a porn site. Curious as to my stamina under alcohol’s numbing hand, I reached for my penis and clicked a particularly promising link marked “fucked HARD” with no other guide. I tugged at my cock for several minutes to no avail; iTunes gives me Gogol Bordello. I start to fantasize about previous sexual conquests, soon noticing a scab-covered wound on my arm. Taking advantage of my numbed nerve endings I claw the wound open until it gapes and yawns at me, blood welling up as generously as oil.
The video’s getting into full swing. Sex floods my mind as the wound pumps more platelets out of my system. Music resounding is Cream; it ends suddenly and returns to the Stones. Mick sings along to the beat of my hand as my eyes roll heavenward to the sound of a faceless woman moaning.
The blood tips down my arm, snapping over my eyes and drawing my tongue to the spill. I know I am affixed permanently to this chair. I lap the copper red onto my tongue, focusing on the bent form on my computer screen.
I come without much sensation thanks to the vodka, yet I feel a sense of accomplishment; I beat the drug at it’s own tricks. No whiskey dick here.
My hand wipes itself sullenly on a tissue, reluctant to part with its achievement. I flick the tissue into the trash can and am startled by the sudden furry feeling around my legs; the cat is back.
Modest Mouse, what the fuck? No. Switch.
Sublime, Slow Ride. Yes.
“She takes her time when it’s time to get ready…”
I am naked and soaked in sweat and semen, epoxied to a chair and clearing the vestiges of Russian ice from my head. The drums drill themselves into my head like burrowing insects searching for protein.
“Maybe just the way you move so slow…”
Switch.
Lady Gaga.
Switch.
Queen.
Switch.
The White Stripes. Okay.
This is what I sleep to.

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