a different story, part one

ahh, it had been awhile. it had been so long since i felt primal. i walked carefully now on the damp carpet, smelling the renewed scent of dog piss from tenants past. fuck, i thought. i just spent fifty bucks on cleaning carpets than now smell disgustingly fresh. fresh with piss from untrained dogs of the past. fishing aroundin my pocket my fingers met with the object of my desire, a lighter. the incense wasn't gonna cure the problem, but it sure was gonna hide it for a minute. i peeled off the wet socks soaked with carpet cleaner and ancient dog piss. damn, i said. time to make something of myself.

the thought has been brewing for years now, almost a decade. i turned twenty eight and realized i have a gerbil wheel life. now, i don't discount living in the moment, going on adventures, being where i need to be, but jesus man. i am in a rut. the waitressing has kicked it, the bills have amassed in a proportion i can't even begin to handle, and the lessons of the past recklessness have surfaced with a venegance.

suddenly the smell of dog piss and nag champa doesn't matter. suddenly the fact that i want to create again makes me euphoric. without the former crutches of paint and brush, i am writing my art. i have been writing all night, and i can't seem to stop. all these scenes are spilling forth. i feel like writing a script...i feel like writing a distortion of my life, i feel like watching some more horrible soft porn and turning it off again. really hbo? man, you waste my time.

i turn to the sacredspace of the mind, the fertile soil of the untouched libido, the crossed boundaries of intimacy, the fragile sense of control. tonight i pioneer into my purpose, my past, my future, and into art. for art's sake, and for all of our sakes.