You: Alcoholic Vampire. - SG - What a Cliche.

Lay with rough feet meant for rock running, not these soft wooly alleys

Fear a pounding fist upon you the day after, turning eyes red

A devil beating in an outlandish dress is what you shall see then

So close your eyes to a true evening, blot out this torment

Burry yourself with shoveled dirt and pray for fresh air

Imagine the soft carpet under your feet to be clean, clear of bile

Then open your eyes to a new day, or you won’t have a prayer

Sorry, but it’s all I got.

As you sleep, unconscious, I remember when I was a kid, a California sun

We would run through shattered glass, breaking through hard times

Then there were no worries, but now I know about the drinking

I’ve heard the clinking of bottles that hang deep in your robes, swaying in the air

Once you finish these glass vials, you turn to feed off me

Drinking my blood dry as I sit in the summer heat; a potential hope

But this summer sun cannot kill the alcoholic vampire,

I don’t have a prayer, so give me all you got.

Why do you try to teach me your story? I’m educated and falling far away

Your answers shall only open my eyes to the new low not yet obtained

Please, look away and hold my head as I sit oblivious,

Just let me revel in my fantasies of worry-frees, lying on yet softer floors

You are the dead from whom I’m revoked, with your tender flesh and

All things die in time, even the love of refreshingly cold illusions flowing down throats

We are offbeat from each other, and forever in a communication breakdown

No one can have a prayer for you, and I’ve given it all I got.

Memoir: A Fictitious Encounter. - SG - Or an Old Friend's Notes.

            We had no choice.  It lay there, begging with eyes that reflected back our image.  I could hear it whimper as it rolled back and forth along the mud-splattered grass.  We had to end it; there was no choice to be made.  I looked to my left to read the girl’s thoughts.  She was foreign to me then, though we are well connected now.  Her eyes glistened similar to its, but did not reflect.  I’m no good with body language or goodbyes, so this was a very awkward situation.  Did she expect for me to act, or was she simply delaying the inevitable?  I turned back to stare into its eyes, so entrancing.  The fear and intelligence were clearly visible through these shining windows.  I began to feel pity, which made me feel weak.  A rage then ensued, for I was supposed to be the superior here, not it.  Before its eyes had time to blink, the knife I held was lodged into its throat.  I hated myself then, and still do now.  I still cry in her arms every night when remembering this scene.

So, four fathoms down?

One - an inch deep isn't too bad really, well... not if your mind is out of the gutter. An inch deep is just the beginning with some screwy unorthodox measuring system that has no real system other than entropy: a chaotic mess. Who's to say that systems' energies run down, break down, and become defunked beyond what is in bound of understanding. Well, Thermo says so. Pynchon too, but that's for another time.

Two - now deeper says a thing, or two, and this is now my step to place. Who was it that said "a javelin of lavender"? I do not know, but those few words so carefully constructed for my own eye's pleasure, a blossom for moods, as the plant's name would suggest, bring forth the most pleasant of tasteful imagery. No, by no means. Two is now halfway almost there, and I'm still too slow to type it all. I free write, but not without restriction. In my mind I hold so stupidly one thought. Stupidly because only then can my head stop and not think for a moment. Stupid is simple, and that's what I feel: simply delightful. It is good to delight in one's own company.

Three: Now the half is realized and by designed has become my very own marker for measure (another one for the text books). Anyway, three fathoms does not total much in a larger sea, but in this case means everything to me. I love. That is two. But three comes in a larger package: I love you. Wow, how corny and titillating I can find myself sometimes. So it comes to the realization that you, Scarlett, are one color along many, but my favorite.

Four - I just noticed the oddity three makes in this series. There is a misfit ":" and a CAPITALIZED letter where they did not belong in previous or post postings. Oh well, leave it as it is. Which is to say wondrous. I not only love, but do so in a fashion far fathoms deeper. Four is a count, trivial as all measurements are, and I can always -- will always -- go deeper and farther. Or is it further? I can never tell. Screw the dirty gutters upon my roof. After all...

You are my favorite color.