Goddamn you

Got my bike out of the shop. Not the one I pedal, the fireball orange one with the motor. It is a motorbike, one could say.

I am happy about this.  It needs to spend the night with the battery charging.

The bike needs some work.  It needs a tuneup. It needs a bath. Thus doth the pot blackguard the kettle.

Goddamn you Wild Turkey! (1)

I’m going to sit here and get drunk. That’s plan A. I was going to stay sober whatfor I could ride the bike. The bike needs work. Goddamn you, bike. Look what you’ve made me do.

I said I was going to do 200 crunches pre-drunk. We shall see.

Goddamn you, Wild Turkey! (2)

I’m feeling all murdery. The bar is probably not the best choice of possible solutions to my somewhat non-existent boredom problem. That being said, my sister wants backup.  Not because she expects a fight, but because she’s heartbroken and needs people the way I’m heartbroken and need the cedar and sage and high lonesome.  The way I need a night freezing and hearing the frost crack the ribs of the trees.  But she is my sis, and I that means she gets first dibs on the heart matters. I’ll drink a plate of armor over that motherfucker. Goddamn you, sister.

One more little golden glass wouldn’t hurt.

Goddamn you, Wild Turkey (3).

And goddamn you, phone. always ringing with the number I don’t want to answer.

And goddamn you, Wild Turkey (4).

Burn me up. Burn me a new life machine down there in my chest-engine. Make the murder raise up, like only you do. Murder, the black greasy death of it, is more suitable to my veins than the cool and refreshing water of early nights and responsible living or the warm milk of self-pity.

I am Prometheus, come to destroy the gods, come to destroy the simple lives of the unlearned! There’s a handful of throttle outside waiting for me.