At the Brandenburg Gate

Where did I go?  I do not know, but I'm knocking at the gate now and I'm not thinking of dear Borris Karloff or Kinsky. 

I found myself trying to explain what life is when everything you know is saturated in alcohol, marinating, pickling, and blistering with hate and hopelessness.  I think even I am beginning to forget now -- becoming complacement.  I was allowing myself to feel safe and comfortable, but now I let it crash in.  My fear wrapped up in dollar signs, the thought of bread lines, stock market leap to doom, roaring lion MGM icon, technology backlit, roaring 20s flappers stomping my dreams to death.  I forgot what liquidity was, because I turned to iron to steele against the blast furnance, this star erupting, the destruction of a life together that was apart from the beginning.

Fermentation is a simple prospect.  Bacteria metabolize, ingest, eat, consume, transfer energy and electrons, make sugars into alcohols that we consume, tranferring our energies to idle processes that only consume more energy, feeding an engine with no higher purpose save grabbing this one instant in time and hazing it out like all our memories that fade as the hands move with time.  How is that fun or joyful?  So I want to write ugly run-on sentences, I want to "cheat on myself, because I have nobody else."  I want to run wild-free and not care the stupid choices I made or what he did to me.  He is but a fuzzy memory now and what pity or affection I used to carry has disappated now, evaporated in the gin that oozed out of his pores.

I heard the thing I was waiting for when I didn't know I was waiting; yet it was met with such aggressive criticism by most others.  I saw beauty and poetry in a hideous and forceful monster that rasped of such awful things done to woman by herself and by others.  I realized that I could easily be this woman, this Lulu.  For there is often a fine line between loving and hurt, and mostly I've known hurt.  I wouldn't cut my legs off, but I did cut other things that are not tangible.  Perhaps they will grow back, perhaps I will grow up.