A Case for Insanity

Dance, deliberately dance, o dancing devil delirious as a drunken damsel in distress. Destroy my deliberate denouncement of destiny as a detrimental destination. Deliver me down to the depths of despair and desolateness and deprive me of dramatic dreams.

Why am I poor? I did not inherit poverty, for I inherited nothing. Why am I short? Genetics. Why am I saying this? Why am I ranting? (like a madman, forever making reference to Monica Anne) Am I in misery? I think I am insane. I think I am full of shit today, as yesterday, as tomorrow.

The place that cradled me in my youth is burning. I am no longer safe in the womb of innocence. I am on the edge of absudity bordering on the repulsive. There are two many images of pussies in my head. The world is high on a substance too expensive for me to have. I am lost, I am lost. I am lost. I am lost.

(sum up your life in one sentence) My life is an endless stream of cigarettes and paranoiac dreams.

Is Cutty Sark better than Jack Daniels? Padilla or Cuervo? Napoleon or Carlos Uno? Hennesy or Dom Perignon?  Johnny Walker keeps on walking, Remy Martin tries to play stupid cupid. I smoke another stick of Gudang Garam. No, it does not have marijuana.

Geez.

4 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    Punsai said,

    February 5, 2007 @ 9:55 pm

    there is a cigarette in Vietnam called Bastos.

  2. 2

    Coco said,

    February 6, 2007 @ 10:46 am

    I liked how you alliterated the first paragraph, Jed.

    Being lost is relative. Where’s your point of reference?

    On a lighter note.. Hey, what’s with you and cigarettes? =)

  3. 3

    John Matthew said,

    February 6, 2007 @ 11:44 pm

    Somehow I can relate to what you say. I feel the same way to at time.

  4. 4

    Mao said,

    February 7, 2007 @ 7:03 am

    Because it is evening and not yet night, my favorite time of day (and yours, pardon me for being presumptuous)–

    I once wrote a poem made up solely of words starting with the letter ‘D.’

    You are mad. And my name is Monica Anne.

    Lost is nowhere, an unknown.

    I want to hear you say “would you like some rock salt with your margarita?” in French again.

    Gudang Garam means ’salt warehouse’ in Bahasa.

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