I feel opaque; like smoked glass looking out onto a parking lot. There's a single limelight there, green and sputtering sporadically. A sweet goth girl bends a leg back against the post, perching cooly in black attire while smoke oozes from her parted lips. She looks up at me and smiles in a vague way, tapping the ash toward the ground. I knew someone like her once. Some silent testament to the mood of tonight.

My mind can't focus; emotions are scattered. I guess I just exploded somehow. I feel ok, but caught in a thousand different directions. I know people going through hard transitions, moving on to new pastures with the "best value" u-haul and all. There's some disjointed lovers toward the back, making time in the shadows to let the sunshine come in.

So while I smile and gingerly pick up a misplaced leg and an eyeball here and there, a moment of Jethro Tull:

"There's a beast upon my shoulder,

and a fiend upon my back.

Feel his burning breath a heaving,

smoke oozing from his stack.

And he moves beneath the covers or he lies below the bed.

He's the Beast upon your shoulder.

He's the price upon your head.

He's the lonely fear of dying, and for some, of living too.

He's your private nightmare pricking. He'd just love to turn the screw.

So stand as one defiant- Yes, and let your voice swell.

Stare that Beastie in the face

and really give him hell"

-part of "Beastie," off of the 'Broadsword and the beast' record.

I adore Jethro Tull.

Refill the cup and drink it up. Say goodnight and wish good luck...and have a round for me, too.

previous - next