Novembered and stubborning

The fact that I had way too much to drink last night bedazzles the littlest version of myself-in myself, and renders me helpless in this unchartered black ocean of guilt. I did not do anything nonsensical, or did I? I hopped from Kahayag to Kasadja, shared a table with disclosed lessies and a fag but didn't quite like it, 3 hours later I shared a table with four closeted men. Maybe I saw too much last night. I saw the uncultured laugh at the very last embers of the utterly pure bisaya. I saw friendship in a pitcher of gin pomelo. I saw yen's eyes boasting of her intimidation and the rapturous glory of defeat in vera's lips. She might have spilled a million or so words and Yen must have kept every single one of them. The world was a mess. Pure chaos in a cafe, in the exchange of poetry and ignominy... no, I cannot so much describe those hours in full and precise detail and say I have told the story that was last night. I sat amongst the brave and the afraid, and when I found myself infected by the caking caprice of the oblivion that is themselves, I slink into the face of the once magically sensitive. I reeled into his affirmations I've once so tightly and violently kept and set for replay for all of my baddest hours. Snap, and the taste of vomit becomes the taste of the real and the painful and the ecstacy of agony in the lives of those who find no reason in the idea of a true self, expressed and beheld-fully. I did not do anything nonsensical last night, no I did not. I found the room I might call home-finally and finding it placed me on the line that separates me, aloneness manifest, and me right now, trapped in a barnful of skulls, sharpening a knife in readiness for Armageddon...Ok, not really...but me and me trapped, and it is a position and a situation worthy of being called one of the most petrifying(though shallow) predicaments of Russ history. The finding of the one ROOM would have been a great start for yesterday evening, but it proved to only usher in greater, more discomforting events. Lights everywhere, none of them lifted my spirits. Music pumped liked legendary porn stars on first-timers. A stampede of red horses and a kiss with a stranger amongst urinals and vomit vomit vomit. Everything ablur, unclear, everything-everywhere la vie boheme spoiled. Absence loomed over like a blue cloud of regret without the cloudbreaker of a single dark knight. I did not do anything nonsensical last night, I just had way too much to drink. Maybe that was all it was. Super Perfundo