THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <- | \ | | blah! |\ | `\|\ | the rantings and ravings |/ |(_|| | * of a depraved lunatic <^> 2024-08-09 Last night I got pretty drunk and then smoked a joint and got very high, bringing me to the otherworldly state of crossfadia. Let me describe the scene. [...] pours a double shot of tequila and some margarita mix into a salt rimmed coffee mug. Why a coffee mug? There were only four cocktail glasses. Why cocktail glasses? There were no margherita - wait, how do you spell that? Fuckin hell I'm looking it up. Mike Alpha Romeo Golf Alpha Romeo India Tango Alpha. M A R G A R I T A. Got it. There were no margarita glasses. The cocktail glasses were pretty easy to rim with salt - salt, a little water, a pyrex because the plates are in the dishwasher, then roll inwards. The coffee mug - my coffee mug, by the way, the black one that has a weird handle - did not behave so well. Eventually there was enough salt on it to haunt a sailor and so a double shot of tequila and some margarita mix went in. Are you sure you don't want to add a little more tequila? [...]: I already pour heavy-handidly, Trin. That's true. I tried the margarita and I thought it was pretty good, I liked how the salt complemented the bitterness of the alcohol. Everybody else slowly tried theirs and remarked upon how awful their drinks were. But they can't handle their alcohol anyway. [...]: Hey, do you wanna try tequila shots? For lack of limes: I balled my left fist and, with the ring of my index finger and thumb parallel to the floor, [...] put about three or four drops of lime juice (from a bottle) on the flat part of my fist at that angle, told me to rub it on the skin, not to rub it /in/ or anything but just to spread it around to give it more surface area. Alright. It added salt. [...] poured heavy-handidly again; a single for my friend, a double for me. Alright. We - what order was it in again? - I think we licked the lime-and-salt, then took the shots. [...]: You took that shot like a champ. Unfazed. It's easy to seem good at drinking when you had so much bitter coffee as a kid - real battery acid sort of coffee. "Good" at drinking, says the almost- alcoholic. Not really. I've never found it difficult to function for my desire for Russian Fire-Water (in this case, though, I believe it was Spanish) but I sure act like an alcoholic according to some of my friends. Perhaps I'm just silly. No, no, I'm not even drunk yet - and I wasn't. But I would be. The shots hadn't hit quite yet. Still, I had two more. Then all six hit me like a Japanese train hits yet another suicidal pedestrian. Honk honk! I fell to the ground. Under my control, of course. I simply wanted to feel the gravity. It felt great. [...]: You're drunk. No, I said, getting to my feet and perching a magnificent flamingo pose, I am quite agile, like a shit software development cycle. I'm zen. [...]: Uh huh. Then we went out and [...] and I smoked two joints, one each, and during that I realized I became crossfaded and got really horny and started hitting on faer and fae put a cigarette out on me which we both knew I would really like, and now the burn is a cute blister on my arm. Then we went in and I don't quite remember the rest except that I probably didn't have sex (speaking for myself; it would have been fine if I did, but I'm glad I didn't because it would have probably not been that great) because I woke up in the living room on the futon at about god-knows-when in the morning with a trickle of dawn light eeking through the blinds and Pop Tart wrappers on the living room table - two of them. No, three. Plus an empty bottle of Moxie for which [...] was gonna suck me off. A fox was drinking out of the tap, so I let it, and it left and I filled my coffee mug with water and drank it and it tasted like the margarita mix still. : the last burger work poetry for now you could say I'm from somewhere or so halfway between anywhere and none at all blissfully ignorant of mortal concerns head made of metal with nothing left to learn 2024-08-06 it's been some time since I've loved been such a long time with no one waiting a long time in this brush I'm surviving on an island lovin' ain't findin' me hopin' ain't findin' me searchin' ain't gettin' me out of my misery <^> No rights reserved, all rights exercised, rights turned to lefts, left in this corner of the web.