domingo, 2 de enero de 2011

Oh, Those Heavy Days

It was one of those heavy days. Those fucked up days that seem to crush your soul. It felt like it was never gonna end. I woke up and immediately sensed the dreadful energy of past hangovers. I´m thirtyfuckingtwo years now. Fuck. And all alone. Like a fucking old, weary, forgotten toy. Like Woody, except that my woody doesn´t stand up anymore the way it used to. Aw, fuck. 

I had heard the stories. Of how your body wasn´t the same after thirty. I´d heard them allright. Except I never believed it. They talked about the twenty years crisis, and it never hit me. I went to the toilet right away. I had to get rid of the evil alcohols, those that don´t want to stay inside your body, well fuck them. Out they went and down the toilet they were flushed away. There was no food in my vomit, just a semi-transparent, yellowish liquid. And my nose sore like a motherfucker. 

It was my best birthday party so far. A party of loneliness. A party of no judgments other than those of my three loves: tequila, beer, and some whiskey to keep me going through the three thirty am frontier. I had to experience the sun coming out one more time. 

Because the sun is Idon´tknowhowmany millions of years old and still gets up full force every morning. I take my hat off and drink in its honor. 

Cheers. And goodbye.

1 comentario:

  1. LarryCañonga&Meliñonga3 de enero de 2011, 8:16

    We love how you felt about your woody.
    Happy New Year, old man!