Streamed Vodka Sentencing

It is a giant chasm filled with the void amusement of this world and all trivial matters it brings. Perhaps I should not have such a bleak outlook on it all, but I want to flutter my wings with purpose, fling myself off a cliff and welcome the feeling of a cool breeze pressing against my face. It feels nice swimming through the possibility of mattering. My goal is to walk through this life and be guiltless--floating inches above solid grass, bending not even a single blade for fear of harming a fellow creature. The freedom stars and melted ice cube petals will welcome me to a place of organic dwelling. Some day soon I will paddle through lapping waves of soft, beautiful sea kelp and escape this moment of carbonation and candy wrappers set on fire--of false sensations of passion and incredibly fake jewelry. I stare into the amber syrups of my drink and long to take a dip. They don't need me here on shore, sitting on the rim of dishonesty, bad weather, and bubblegum colored socks. I do not know how much longer I will survive as a fraud. The sharks keep feeding me shots and ask me to join in on a game of billiards. I have nothing else to do but dream so I always consent, for I am secretly hoping to stumble into something authentic.

The creative juices are flowing now, and I can only wish to be squeezed like an over-ripe orange...perhaps I will burst with tangerine flavor and drip molecules of nutrition, offering a fresh start to a new day. The bubbles fill my cup, float to the top, and pop with microscopic splashes spitting on my cheek and stabbing me in the eye. I am lost in hyper-sensitivity, drifting further into dimensions removed from familiarity. Being alone isn't as painful as one might think and as I sit here at the bar in solitude, I can sense the worn-out girls and over-compensating boys quietly saluting my facade of independence. For a split second I agree with them...and then I make faulty eye contact and trip over my own misjudgment. How long can I sit here so exposed?

I can paint my own dream and discover something new about where I can create: the colors, smells, and emotions. I don't want to belong to some place stationary because I am deeply terrified of landing. What if I look around and realize I am truly all alone--or worse, what if I break the surface and find that there are people who care about me more than I could ever do for myself or for them? What if I am incapable of loving? I feel paralyzed, stuck in sadness and dirty laundry. I want to swallow the bar whole, consume all the corruption and misunderstood miracles. Everyone here has significance to the people closest and for tonight, and this night only, they are each superheroes and geniuses, famous people who are going to conquer the world. Why can't we all be caught dwelling in this sink filled with soap scum and possibility? We are all capable of loving and this is what gives us weight--love is what attaches us to gravity; it makes us cry and keeps us close to the core of God-created existence. We sunbathe and skip across parking lots. We laugh and tear up in the same sentence, tripping over name tags and polite introductions. I am thinking of magnets sticking to metal objects that do not matter. And how might we escape?

Trains are crashing into each other, de-railing and threatening to throw off the balance of this world. Sip the gin and tonic to watch the lime pulp particles swirl about the glass and press themselves against the frozen chamber. I want to be alone. The setting itself no longer matters, just the unfamiliarity of the people around me and how comfortable the anonymous make me feel. Call me odd and smoky, but the white roses of thought are all that matter now. I am trudging through wet clouds in green rubber boots hoping to float to the top, and knowing all along that I will never make it there. I can twist and kick and tango up here in a diet coke world of dreamy reality, although chipped nails and a broken pen, smudged words and a dead fly remind me of how much I value imperfection. I must descend from the mountains now, and leave the frost and streaming thoughts behind in order to soak up the musical vodka.