Deep Thoughts in an Ocean of Anguish or The Night and the Beer

The night and beer keep the thoughts from flowing. The fingers just typing, nothing intelligible, nothing worth the reading, just tapping away, slapping, in fact, at the plastic keys, picking blackheads and popping pimples that form on the nose. Not knowing why, at this point in my life, I still get acne. Why I’m still finding puss in the pores of my poor nose. Perhaps it’s because Sherri picks at the nose, introducing dirt and other nasty things. Perhaps it’s the nerves, or the terrible eating habits that have been fostered in the past eight months. Perhaps it’s some strange, near mid-life sort of thing. Perhaps no one will ever know.

Dreading work, as I always do, not because of the work itself, or the people with whom I share the office and the bandwidth and the network, no. Dreading work simply because of the drive. The long haul. Many chances along the way for some terrible tragedy to befall me.

Often paranoid, hardly ever right, wishing I were stoned, sometimes craving the cocaine, missing the little pills, too. The painkillers, the oxycodone, the hydrocodone, the whatever. Hell, codeine would be fine. Take the pain away, take the paranoia away, make me sleep well at night, make me not fear the reaper, make me not worry about my love, or the future, or the little sounds of the house as it settles. Getting to know the house and the neighborhood and wondering why the fuck we moved so far away. Sittin on the couch and typing, no television to occupy and to rot the brain, pop those little cells from the radiation, the messages transmitted from tv tube to the eye socket and into the brain, wasting it away like boulders in the sandstorms—slowly but eventually, turning to
pebbles those large, proud rocks.

Were not the boulders merely pieces of the mountain? Were not these rocks merely pieces of the boulder? Are not these pepples just pieces of the rock? And isn’t the sand tiny pieces of each pebble? Then, is not not sand merely the pebble? Are not the pebbles merely the rock? Are not the rocks merely the boulder? Are not the boulders merely the mountain? Are we not just the sand of the universe? Are we not the universe itself?

Deep thoughts in an ocean of anguish and pain and suffering. Looking upward for enlightenment and seeing only the dark. Looking around for wonderment and seeing only the ordinary, the dull, the same old shit.

Do you stare up at the stars in the sky and wonder about the worlds that might surround each of them? Do you wonder what each world that surrounds each sun might be like? Do you wonder if someone from some world around some sun is looking up at you and wondering the same thing?

When I look out at the world and notice it not looking back, I wonder just what the hell it is that I’m doing here, what the fuck it’s all about. I wonder, while I suck down a beer and whack off a bit just what the hell it all means. And then I cum, and I run out of beer, and all is fine.