165/365: Tuesday, June 14, 2011: Sabik and the...

165/365: Tuesday, June 14, 2011: Sabik and the Strawberry Moon (Photo credit: Stephen Little)

Jeanne Boleyn

Jeanne Boleyn (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Kranz (wreath) of Kölsch beer.

A Kranz (wreath) of Kölsch beer. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Drunk Star

Drunk Star (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wait for her down by the riverside but she does not come the next night or the one after that.  On the third night I wait for her in a diner but she never appears.  Angry, I storm out to find a bar and get drunk.  I have enough sense to leave my wallet and car keys with somebody and find a bar where I aim to do some serious drinking.  I’ve only been drunk once before in my whole life, on my twenty first birthday.  On that day I discovered I could buy booze and that nobody wanted to see my ID.

Drunkeness sets in at this bar.  And from  then on

The first time she came to me I was looking out across a bean field on a mellow, coolish June afternoon as the land fell away into a shapeless hell.  A rotted woodfence, a ramshackle farmhouse.  An abandoned disking tool rusting in the weeds.

She approached me casually.  She was so quiet I did not notice her  until she was almost beside me, pushing her hair out of her face in the mild, soft wind.  The next thing I knew she touched my forearm with the mildest of all possible touches and I felt an anxious churning in my stomach.  I looked down at red fingernails and up at her shy smile and I knew what was going to happen.

She undressed me without haste and undressed herself and my stomach was icy as I was too aware that I was well into my twenties and still a virgin.  I was terrified I would do something wrong and I thought please don’t let me fart and then I was on my back and she was on top and…

…and oh, oh, oh this is what real pussy feels like I don’t believe I don’t believe I don’t…I was almost there when she pinched the base of my dick to slow me down and touched herself .  She had an awful look on her face like they do in porn flicks and in apparent rage she climaxed furiously and spoke every endearment I ever heard.

I came suddenly. Sweetness and violence like it had ever been and ever will be in a thousand tomorrows when we are just dust and I felt the same forlorn desperation that was in her voice and in every paen of all humanity.  And we fell asleep next to each other there in Mid America.

And now i sit in this strange bar getting drunk, mooning over her.   Clouds of drunkeness move in.  I see an enormous whore go to the bar with beer mugs for filling.  She gives me a sideways look replete with porcine lechery.

Outside breathing fire i walk into the hazy day.  Mood glum and somber.  Rain spatters randomly.  I get on a city bus and the driver gives me a funny look.

Now things begin to get hazy.  I remember spilling a drink on myself and having a cussing fit while people stare.  In this bar the music and the smoke and the din grow heady.   I remember sitting with some rednecks and drinking and i say to someone, I’m trying to  get drunk.  Leave my ass alone.

I grow queasy.  Next i am looking down at a tin trough filled with clots of vomit.  Beads of shitwater condensing on a copper pipe.  A man is sleeping on a toilet, hands hanging.  Behind him on the wall is an enormous shit stain as if somebody didnt even bother to aim.

I vomit into the trough while two guys watch me.  Outside the crapper i pirouette and land on the floor.  I stand up and the roach stained walls seem to revolve as two thieves watch me closely.

Outside and i am approaching a shack in the dark.  Hot clotted bile fills my nostrils.  In a room.  Voices outside rising. I sit in a lumpy stuffed chair.  He too drunk, somebody says.  Out in the corridor i flounder and my stomach heaves and i spew foulness.  I try to catch it in my hands.  I wipe myself on a curtain and stumble into a cool dark room and struggle to get under a bed.  I must not be found till i sober up.

Somebody bends over me and says, Hey, man.

I say, Whose house is this?

Someone else says, Get him outta here.  Muh’fuh done puked everywhere.

I stagger down a long flight of stairs.  Going through cinders and dirt.  I wake in a cemetery among the menhirs of the dead.  Polished stones, pale grass and black trees.  I am damp and

Drunkenness of Noah

Drunkenness of Noah (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

cold and my jeans are caked with mud.  I cross the cold grass of the cemetery to the street.  Managing to stay off the main roads i get home safely.  I sweat through a bad hangover and shower and go to wait for her.  Again.


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