14.Nov.2003
or a cough drop
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welcome to withdrawalville.
I have a left-hand fetish.
"It's like Christmas for you when you realize someone is left-handed," Dee, otherwise known as Chimney Sweep, said to me at breakfast this morning. He, Deion and I were stretched comfortably amongst a corner booth at the International House of Pancakes at five in the morning. Deion has proclaimed himself a slave to caffeine and nicotine, despite the fact he's naturally high-strung.
I am easily excited by the most banal of things, which makes others in my company particularly wary of my giddiness. Jason, my musical comrade for life, who is also left-handed, is among them.
I am fond of zoning in on ancient stigmas and researching the more creative caches of the brain. The outcome of this is terribly obvious.
At breakfast, I craved carbohydrates and vegetables; this was rectified with a side of honey-mustard sauce prepared by ambivalent cooks upon which I would rather not cast my eyes.
The three of us discussed my favorite five-in-the-morning topic: previous relationships. We all decided the shortest ones somehow wound up making the most intense impacts.
Across the table, Deion inquired, "What do you look for in a guy?"
I responded, sans hesitation, "I don't."
Which, is quite possibly the most honest and equally most succinct answer I've ever given. What I desire and what I wind up acquiring, so to speak, never match.
We finished eating and returned to my house, and subsequently waited for the morning to become darker. I have two beds in my bedroom, and I assigned Deion to the spare. We conversed for a few moments while he smoked Marlboro Lights, and after a brief period of relaxed silence, I heard a caffeine-tainted voice question, "So, you said you don't look for anything in a guy. Why?"
I cocked an eyebrow toward gray, November clouds and asked, "Are you elbowing in on me?"
"Quite possibly," said his immutable grin.
I paused, sucked on my upper-lip, and responded, "But are you left-handed?"
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Jason sent me three musical compilations that I gleefully found in the mail today; in between writing a check to Capital One and accounting for personal finances, this was a joy. While showering, I listened to his pseudo Disquieter album and there was much catharsis to be relished while mixing shampoos. Later, I took all three CDs to my DVD player and forced Deion to get lost with me in the ambiance.
I am also taking these with me to New York come the Springtime, so I may force Jubal to get lost with me for five days straight in the ambiance of all things beautiful and musical and possessive.
Jesus God I need a cigarette.
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time & machine