Monday, July 15, 2013


I inspect the skin below my left eye, where my face feels numb. Nothing amiss that I can see. Just the same face — a little hang-dog, a little tired. A few lines. Pupils equal. Given my affection for seeking the envelope's edge, I look surprisingly spry.

Not as chipper as I did in the photo above. It was taken in October 2011 by Wingo, the one-name celebrity photog, so there is that to consider — he can make anyone look good. And I was in a different frame of mind back then. A mindset can do wonders for a person, and it is a terrible thing to waste, or overlook. I managed to do both. But that's life.

Right now I'm occupied with this numb spot. It's about the size of a dime. It's not a big deal, but I'd like to stay off the stroke ward and stick around for a little while longer. Not for finding the perfect connection — that moment has come and gone — but there are always interesting encounters to experience. I might as well kick it for as long as I'm allowed. Then it'll be time to break out the playlist and the Johnnie Walker Black. Fuck, maybe I'll make it Blue. A Scotch Whisky as old as The Girl. Fitting, that.

I'm not surprised. Not really, not anymore. The resolute urgency of now doesn't feel as urgent as it once did. Life doesn't have that kind of resonance or meaning; it doesn't hold any allure. It's more about losing myself for a minute or two. Here's something fun to do tonight — go do it. Tomorrow? Whatever. Don't look for anything to last because nothing does. Nothing of any meaning, anyway.

I touch the numb spot on my face again, wonder what kind of damage I'm doing to myself, shrug. I've come undone.

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