nolachris0420 
Member since Apr 16, 2013


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Re: “Letters to the Editor

I didn't know where to write this.
Here i am awake at 0100. There's something about coffee and sugar after a long night of boozing it up that brings everything into the most of crystalline states. And there it is... the coffee maker so jauntily askew... mocking me. The coffee cup that, as I raise it, betrays a stain on the counter top tile. Tile so white that it mocks the virgin birth. And there is my coffee cup... staining it up. Juxtaposed to the white tile are the earlier thoughts of the night, Thoughts too dark to be mentioned.... but who cares, coffee is good. It wakes the soul. There's something liberating about being drunk in New Orleans at this hour with no one to care. New Orleans is that kind of place. Here i am, in my kitchen, in nothing but my draws, and if I walked the streets, I doubt anyone would notice. Back to my coffee.... I'm not sure it was such a grand idea... It'll probably keep me up most of the night, but that's a fantastic excuse to drink more rum... oh shit!!! I haven't been drinking rum at all. These fucking assassins have me all fucked up. I was merely drinking tequila and wrenching my mind around the fact that my marriage had gone down the shitter as my soon to be ex-wife sat there typing away on her phone, when I realized that all of Boston was in a tumult. These fucking assassins had set off bombs!!! Not 1, but 2 bombs at the end of the Boston Marathon!! And here I am, trying to be what I wash't, drinking tequila instead of rum, wondering what the fuck just happened. Back to my coffee.... Fuck, I wish I had a cigarette. Fucking patches aren't worth a fuck at a time like this... New Orleans is an eternity away from Boston when a bomb goes off, but I still wonder... where does it end? My mind is a wheel, it doesn't stop. Those dark thoughts return. This time, not self-effacing.... This time redemptive. Where are the assassins?! Let's find em! But I'm in my kitchen. I'm still in my draws, drunk, drinking coffee.... Will i do a fucking thing? Can i find someone to blame? Back to my coffee.... and underneath the cup, there's that fucking stain....

Posted by nolachris0420 on 04/16/2013 at 2:15 AM

Re: “Pearl Jam, Nine Inch Nails headline 2013 Voodoo Experience

I didn't know where to write this.
Here i am awake at 0100. There's something about coffee and sugar after a long night of boozing it up that brings everything into the most of crystalline states. And there it is... the coffee maker so jauntily askew... mocking me. The coffee cup that, as I raise it, betrays a stain on the counter top tile. Tile so white that it mocks the virgin birth. And there is my coffee cup... staining it up. Juxtaposed to the white tile are the earlier thoughts of the night, Thoughts too dark to be mentioned.... but who cares, coffee is good. It wakes the soul. There's something liberating about being drunk in New Orleans at this hour with no one to care. New Orleans is that kind of place. Here i am, in my kitchen, in nothing but my draws, and if I walked the streets, I doubt anyone would notice. Back to my coffee.... I'm not sure it was such a grand idea... It'll probably keep me up most of the night, but that's a fantastic excuse to drink more rum... oh shit!!! I haven't been drinking rum at all. These fucking assassins have me all fucked up. I was merely drinking tequila and wrenching my mind around the fact that my marriage had gone down the shitter as my soon to be ex-wife sat there typing away on her phone, when I realized that all of Boston was in a tumult. These fucking assassins had set off bombs!!! Not 1, but 2 bombs at the end of the Boston Marathon!! And here I am, trying to be what I wash't, drinking tequila instead of rum, wondering what the fuck just happened. Back to my coffee.... Fuck, I wish I had a cigarette. Fucking patches aren't worth a fuck at a time like this... New Orleans is an eternity away from Boston when a bomb goes off, but I still wonder... where does it end? My mind is a wheel, it doesn't stop. Those dark thoughts return. This time, not self-effacing.... This time redemptive. Where are the assassins?! Let's find em! But I'm in my kitchen. I'm still in my draws, drunk, drinking coffee.... Will i do a fucking thing? Can i find someone to blame? Back to my coffee.... and underneath the cup, there's that fucking stain....

0 likes, 5 dislikes
Posted by nolachris0420 on 04/16/2013 at 2:11 AM

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