Science of an Anxious Party Scene

mar 8th 3:13am (edited March 12th)

Those paralytic stairs and the head-on glances with downcast eyes that barely avoid getting hit by an alleyway car. I hike through the drunk-pretense gauntlet and my mental health is variable. When so much is uncertain the role wallpaper plays in a room is questioned absurdly, as if it could respond itself. The retro patterns take human form. Here there are traumatic visions and a disappointed skull for never reconnecting with such an averted past. (the concrete or the abstract… which would you rather bang your head against?) Then wow! the consistent cross checked 2 year conditioning period to “break in” as they say through bath salt  bated breath. I worry that I’m projecting the needy, well-fed house dog attitude onto the other younger partygoers. They concern themselves with the trivial subject matter from which I had long dissociated, while I darkly brood and dance simultaneous, moving awkward and tentative like a newborn calf unsure of its footing, the musculature of achilles. The bow and arrow.
The bar idea falls flat. It exits my dark cloud shadow pulpit mind into mist, with the musical talks from ghosts of friends, then it makes more sense, then it is lost in the glazed over uncertainty of dance moves and curb jumps while traffic zooms by. I am too a ghost. The physical barriers lost and my distinctions can be limited by a mere removal of certain particles, replaced by crystals and diamonds of an incessant thirst, put in the request and enlist me in your mighty punk rock army, with the ideas manufactured like post war colonies. Then everything is formed like nothing ever happened. On the tombs of our greater, older ideas, and the whole dressed cute little mischief, all of those conjured up histories and the isolated heat of indoor sticky messes. Our conversations limited to bullshit with the silent condolence of our most recently deceased dreams.
…for our (four hour) minutes spill out forever in the lost art of broken teeth to open beers. Terrible decisions of youth taking flakes our of our skulls, the reach for water ignorance, the conversations averted, sad drunken misfortunate, the black cat followed me like a plague of death, party becomes a lifeless body when there are no collaborative games, or meaningful shared content. The intimacy of infinite spaces and hugs of wondrous warmth ignored by the cold glass eyes of harmonious detail, as the personalities change, is how bodies melt together. No matter who I was, it was good to make a statement, English. Weird isolation. Hungry for music. Waiting for it to happen like a blissful firework in the palm of night. Disappointment is an understatement.
The head straight down through the midst of gawking people. Shrill laughter. Dollar to the coffee desirous homeless man and the Japanese girls that cackled disapproval at me from their stiletto heals for the action, the hand washed like sheets after an orgy, the documents after the unjust verdict is made, shredded then burned up in a a fire of astonishing size. These are not the most full thoughts, emotional outpour of complete passive dismissal, the unbelievable truth of only knowing a handful of people and then panicking from an undiagnosed social disorder, the dreams die together with the accountability of oneself for action spent to get home. I understand how your interactions with strange men occur now. If I went less guarded to the party and cool hand Luke decided to keep the ‘mixed greens’ high to himself, with the windows opened, the volume increases and our ideals are crazily felt, the alcoholic influences of dreams all dried out due to lack of nutrient supplies. We hashed out the plan, we’ll take the jeep, now crashed, parked and blocked in, the panic and senseless anxiety to consider any situation as an impossible one to account for, there was a hand meant to hold, a crazy desire like that of a tiger coming of age, my hands were so dry back then, huge gashing cuts from carpal tunnel percussion frenzy, somehow the humility extinguished…
I thought back so fondly to those dead moments that I willed myself to exit present truth.

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