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  • Forgot I don't forget.
    Forgot that if you want to forget, drinking's not the highway to drive.
    Nor the exit, nor even a rest stop.

    For me, drinking blurs, then diverts ---
    then hammers drills smack-you-down-back-to's remembering, masticating, ruminating...
    scab picking.
    without end.

    a Mobius band unending.
    a ciudad viejo you're trapped in, seeking an exit.

    and I think if I just drink this, and see through until I get to the bottom of this glass,
    or this glass,
    or if I just keep drinking to see through to the bottoms of all the glasses I'll be fine.
    It'll be my new hobby.
    Like playing Solitaire. I'll inspect glass bottoms.

    but it ain't no hobby - I started to forget.
    to escape, exit the sad thoughts.
    but there is no exit -- DUH -- no escape --
    'cause you're drinking.
    I N G. Drinking. a verb. not a destination.
    and a pretty crappy verb for me since I get stuck remembering.
    Remembering the Forgetting, which isn't,
    which isn't at all where I want to be.

    so no drinking bonita.
    You end up in that same crappy neighborhood,
    and you've been and been and been there.

    There's nothing for you there.
    Stop pretending blankness is promise masked. That there's good ahead,
    ...but you just can't see it yet.

    I believe. Who knows what he believes?
    You've given him your heart. He responds with blankness.
    and blankness is blankness.

    Stop placing your heart all nakedy - on the freeway like that.
    It keeps getting run over, that freakishly strong muscle:
    ground into the pavement by blankness.
    by nothingness.
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