Magpie, Red wine, last night and the qualatative differences between various states of hang over!

[jack_babalon]

There is a unique quality of hangover one gets when swimming with Red Wine. Not sure why that is really, it's not the headache & dehydration fiasco I get off going a few rounds with Mrs.Whiskey in the ring. Nor is it the skull gang bang from a pack of Guinesses that hit like a skinhead fitba club when it's lost the world cup. No, drinking from the blood of the grape leaves me feeling like I went skinny dipping the night before in a tar pit with a sack of screaming cats on my back. Had a strange dream this morning, fragmented now across the commute & coffee: There was a Mariachi band playing up & down the aisle of the MARTA train cab, some song I kinda recognized but couldn't place, meanwhile a little boy with an inhuman smile and wicked teeth ran back and forth collecting the 'Fare' for our ride. I was sitting next to a very beautiful leggy blond who explained to me that the 'fare' was a request for the band. The little boy tugs on my sleeve and says something in the strange pigeon language I made up in the dream to symbolize Spanish or Mexican. I told him I didn't understand, (which is funny when I think about it since my subconscious did just create the language for this one little 'scene') and he nodded and ran off to the other passengers.

Blame it on the Magpie. Who I ran into at Criminal along with the Scholar. The Scholar had just successfully defended his proposal for his thesis and was gonna take a few days off to chill. The Magpie was chirping about the Innman park parade~ Togas, Greek Gods & No Beer, Oh My! Since both seemed to be temporarily between papers & plays I accepted their offer to hang out a bit. Which led to a trip to the liqour store. Which led to the Magpies new pad. Which in turn led to music. Now glasses. Now pour. Drink, fire & drink. Repeat. Blasted James Brown & Patsy Cline off the front porch. Stagger danced to old mixed tapes of mine. Skits, jokes, poetry quotes and finally one of us trips and falls out of eternity and realizes that it's well past Midnight. Shit! I get up for work & I got a meeting scheduled with the boss in roughly five hours. Oh sweet baby Buddha bitch slap this rude Maya mirage away, but since i'm not a good Buddhist, nor even a good agnostic, my plea/prayer goes unheeded. Ride home quiet under the Southern tarp of black starless sky. Float into muffled thoughts and eye drift along the course & flow of the late night riders. Talked to the Princess for a bit, one last cigarette before bed, before the firing squad alarm clock hits me dead in the dreams. Loop back and return.

Comments

[fireriven.livejournal.com]

No, drinking from the blood of the grape leaves me feeling like I went skinny dipping the night before in a tar pit with a sack of screaming cats on my back.

Jesus, it really is exactly like that. Thank you for the apt simile.

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

And thank you for reading.
Feedback always helps the word grind.
:)

[catwalk.livejournal.com]

"the firing squad alarm clock hits me dead in the dreams"

i've taken to arguing with my alarm clock.
i'm not even awake before a firm "no!" is
out of my mouth... as if it's going to stop
beeping and whisper, "sorry. i'll come back later."