1. |
gravity and c.
01:55
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In the morning the dried puke is scattered throughout the square bathroom tile in a Poisson distribution.
My fingers playing with a learned response, self-inflicting a conditioned stimulus. A metronomic pulsing, my headache grazing the fringes of my skull, flattening wrinkles. Ceding memories before sentimental ache even has a chance.
See me, in third person, on autopilot, cracking wistful afternoon beers, well deserved after another 8 hour day.
And the evenings always end so soon. A shadowed respite ever fading into lucid dreams of alarm clocks, tardiness and slapstick distress. With a plug in my ear and no stomach left, let me fall asleep. I wanna fall asleep. Dizzy with dread and hazy with regret.
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2. |
eye decay
01:25
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Blend in cross-hatched patterns, adorned across the distressed plateau. Shelved alcoholic pops clear a calming haze, slip vision into vexated fog. A resounding drone, twinned with fluctuating accents.
Entertaining, my attention intermittent. Dinner and/or drinks and/or incipient insecurity. I hope I did not offend you. Stay there, tingle and glide with moppish footsteps. The crisp crack of a delicate deviance. A round about appreciation.
Hunched over breadwinners, bad dinners, calming, call me. Skip into the line. Repeat and expose ancestral high school stories. Abundance is the apt excuse. I never was a stoner the convenient response. Early biddings, honest beddings, universal hipster doctrine, esoteric crimes of imitation.
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3. |
stolen car
01:13
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I can't sleep here tonight cause I need my pills. Can I borrow your car to drive home? I've only had a couple of beers and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Lost in a clustered week. Sucking in the leftover green via the holes in my cheeks. Painted puddles droop overcast. The songs skips across better visions.
Acrid aspirations. Homogeneous color schemes from the bottom to the top. Limited parking a thorny bonus punctuating the day.
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4. |
arlu
02:38
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I lay prone face impressed on freshly vacuumed carpet. Short pop song in my ear. Thank god that mom does my laundry then leaves me alone. Dancing around milkcrate chairs and milkcrate desks. Maturing in lazy spurts.
Well, I miss you down the coast, while I read sad news at my desk between starting and closing time. Wishing to share sad news, sad thoughts with you. I'll visit sometime, but you don't need me to buy you beer anymore.
Educated drunks, lonely with complacency, humbled by temporal notions. Multiply my luck and ignore your advice. Siblings in growing pains. Engineers of perfection. I'll tell mom you say hi I guess if you'll do the same for me.
Feigning expertise. Won't you spend your day complaining with me? Mimosas at ten will keep us company.
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5. |
snowfart
01:07
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God, I'm so droopy all the time. Fabricate compliments, incredulous and serpentine.
God, I'm so stupid all the time. Celebrate depression by design. I'm too lazy to remind. Sleepy yawns crumble dialog.
I hope you call. I hope you know. I hope you crawl.
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6. |
wallless
02:45
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Exhale, overtense, stringing lacquered goodwill, fibrous and microrealized, into my makeshift shrine. Constructed with self indulgence. Complete with inside jokes, hinted secrets, subtle eye contact and risky endeavors.
Embrace coughing fits and thoughtless entertainment presented with the smile of dead videos. Collapsible misspellings, sterile expressions, elongated or whatever. Tasting dry and familiar. Passing through the weekend.
Idle in earnest, with open windows. Sub-rosa flowers decaying, ingested in my glass. Outdated and occluded. Pleonastic plagiarism. Avoid the whole point and just keep it to myself and grin. And passing through the weekend.
Swallow rictusize, perspicuous desires, ineluctable, but now I'm comfortable, for now.
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Hooplah! Oakland, California
self-indulgent basement sounds and poems made by colin frost
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