Sometimes, you post too late at night..

Sometimes things happen, and you don't know what to do.



Sometimes I feel like the girl in Pulp Fiction. One night, she goes out and has this fantastic night of the closest thing to crazy love and romance for her. A mixture of men and Cocaine, she almost thinks it's real. And then she overdoses on Cocaine. She seizures around and basically dies. In order to live, she has to be stabbed in the heart with an enormous and ominous hypodermic needle full of adrenaline. As the man drives the needle into her heart, she immediately gasps for air and jerks upright back to life.

I wonder if she is still high at this point. I wonder what she feels. I wonder how a shot of adrenaline to the heart must feel.

And then she sort of slumps back over, eyes glazed, sweat staying on her forehead, and the guy drives her home in her sort of comatose state.

Sometimes these thing happen.


Sometimes you need a needle of adrenaline stabbed into your heart. And you walk around in a state of anesthetization. And you feel like you're under water; weightless, and dead to the temporal, terrene world. Except when you look down, you see the needle protruding from your heart still. And maybe there is a cloud of blood around it too, making ribbons of amorphous red in the water surrounding you. And you remember that your stab wound hurts. But you leave the needle in, because, in a sedated coma, maybe you feel better. And you don't really want to find out otherwise, so you leave it in. You're awake now, and yes, I found out, you're still high. And you cling to that through weary eyes of truth and reality that's fast setting in, rushing at you in the black like blood to the head after being upside down for a long time.

A little breaks through sometimes. You feel it come at you and take hold of your body. Your muscles tense, your teeth grind, and you make hard fists as your eyes open wide; they're suddenly covered in a thin, wet, mucous, blurring everything into a hazy glow around you, and you hear it pounding in your ears. You set for it to hit you hard, maybe in the stomach--you're waiting to see if the needle of sedation finally breaks free from your chest. You dry heave like the dam will break and you'll finally feel it.

And then it doesn't. You stay on the slow i.v. drip, stay on the cocaine traces. The rushing blood eventually travels back through your veins into it's regular circuit around your body, slow and soft, going quietly about keeping you alive. And you sort of slump back into position, eyes a little less bright than before, and you wait. And life goes on around you. Everyone is coming and going, and your alarm clock is still going off every morning. And people are bustling past you. And you wait for the great hope to come.



Sometimes these things happen.