" - What is your name?" asked a man in what seemed to be a firefighter uniform
" - What is your name?" he repeats, and then I noticed there are more of him
Eastside, reads their sweatshirts and caps, as he interviews me with a flashlight
" - what is your birthdate son" ...and who is the President?"
Oh yes, there I was, almost like Marilyn, meaning, half-dead, half-naked, when 911 arrived. Next thing I know I'm being carried like some foreign deity, on a chair, by uniformed men, while I am wearing nothing more than batik pants, across the parking lot of the apartment complex where I live.
Next stop, Emergency Room, at the Swedish.
" - Son, you're dehydrated and you have some serious tonsillitis, we'll give some fluids in an IV and you'll be good to go, no biggie." said a blue man group man
15 minutes later, he came back with a rather worried look in his face "...errrr, this should be making you better, but your pulse is spiraling and your blood pressure is crashing down like a bird kept by contractors at seatac"
"we are sending you to the ICU at Overlake right now"
Well, that was a relief, I've been to Overlake before, if I am not mistaken, that is where Gates had his kids, so it must be really good, and there I went, on the starsky and butch ambulance, waaaaaauuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrr, all along 405
2 days later I'm back at home, the Doctors were great and so was the whole staff, I really don't remember much, but it is sure nice to get down off the vicodin flight.
I was wondering if you've ever endured this, in a second language....
It's like some bad Ed Woods flick
Seattle, November 6th, 2006
It's raining
hell, it's been raining for the past week
and the weatherman says it will stay that way
at least until March
And I, have a cold
no, this cough is not from smoking
this one makes me sound like an old dog
hiding with a Troll, under a bridge
Yet, I'm tickled pink
tripping in the aborted high
of the nyquils and the sudafeds and the percocets
lighting up a cigarette is like a catalyst
and playing halo is all that's left
cough, cough, cough
as I look outside
and the water washes away
in the fogged up window
I feel tempted to write her name
then I remember, the rain has washed all that away
and I'm only tripping in the high
of the nyquils and the sudafeds and the percocets
What is this feeling?
Like absinthe ice cream, like bliss
Who is she? Where am I?
Who cares?
I have an airplane ticket to who knows where
To some distant land
Some foreign country
Between Asparagus and Tennessee
It’s the gipsy blood
Heart for lease
Love for sale
The World, the backpack
Live and let go
Rome, again
It’s time to roam
The wolf betrays my senses
Fangs urge for blood
Hands burn for cinnamon skin
As I get drunk
With her words that I can’t comprehend
Roam, south
For I know the west
The smell of green pastures
Perspires through her skin
While lost in this unknown concrete whorehouse and cathedral
This megalopolis where I’ve come to meet
Another fallen angel
A reflection of my soul
Another cheap bar
Another senseless night
Another expensive hotel room
Here comes Sam, the bellboy
He'll show you where I’ll be
