Crumb Crawling
Intrepid chemical crank mites surf the bloodstream of our good friend, and social pariah, Jeremy Matheson as he brings a well worn glass bowl to his slightly chapped lips. He flicks the flint, and the flame finds home under a rolling glass vehicle used primarily for delivering hysteria, and an occasional stroke.
Heart quickens.
Phantom ringing.
Blood pressure skyrockets in reaction to the million mile an hour meth invasion.
There's a dainty little scab of a girl crawling around on a filthy shag carpet looking for wayward rocks that might have fallen to the ground.
"Jess.... hey baby, quit crawlin' round on that dirty-ass floor fuckin' crumb huntn'! We got plenty dope, no need to strain yer eyes." Jeremy says.
"Waste not, want not. Waste not, want not. That's what my momma used to say at the dinner table. Bitch! Well, I guess it stuck." she says, and begins an eerie guffaw accented with a snort. "Fuck her... fuck that cow!". Guffaw-snort-guffaw-snort...
"Shhhhh! You're flippin' that lithium loop again, girl" Jeremy whispers emphatically.
Jessica stops, looks up at her soul mate, and says matter-of- factly, "I'm bipolar, ya know. Searching for these rocks is a celebration of mania! Would you rather have me flip out while yer sleepin' and hack yer cock off?"(Rhetorical in nature, of course) "Then let me have my Zen!"
"Hun, we may need to slow down a bit. Want some Xanax?"
"Nah-uh...... not me, baby. I'm comin' up with some hella concepts on birth control and the heartbeat of God," she replies; as she hones in on a fragment of Saltine.
Jeremy grins, sits back, and lets her go. He can relate to the plane his girl is treading.
He pulls a medicine bottle out of his jacket pocket, cracks the lid, and prescribes himself six blue Xanax for stress and reality negation. No muss, no fuss comedown; without the meltdown. 'Life is good,' fleetingly tickers through his mind's eye as neurotransmitters joust for rule over a declining kingdom that is Jeremy Matheson's conventional brain.
"Honey,"
"Yeah, Jer?"
"I'm gonna exit, stage left. Let me know if God's heart skips a beat, 'k?"
"Jesus was a barefoot politician, ya know."
"Yeah..... I know, baby...... I know."
Heart quickens.
Phantom ringing.
Blood pressure skyrockets in reaction to the million mile an hour meth invasion.
There's a dainty little scab of a girl crawling around on a filthy shag carpet looking for wayward rocks that might have fallen to the ground.
"Jess.... hey baby, quit crawlin' round on that dirty-ass floor fuckin' crumb huntn'! We got plenty dope, no need to strain yer eyes." Jeremy says.
"Waste not, want not. Waste not, want not. That's what my momma used to say at the dinner table. Bitch! Well, I guess it stuck." she says, and begins an eerie guffaw accented with a snort. "Fuck her... fuck that cow!". Guffaw-snort-guffaw-snort...
"Shhhhh! You're flippin' that lithium loop again, girl" Jeremy whispers emphatically.
Jessica stops, looks up at her soul mate, and says matter-of- factly, "I'm bipolar, ya know. Searching for these rocks is a celebration of mania! Would you rather have me flip out while yer sleepin' and hack yer cock off?"(Rhetorical in nature, of course) "Then let me have my Zen!"
"Hun, we may need to slow down a bit. Want some Xanax?"
"Nah-uh...... not me, baby. I'm comin' up with some hella concepts on birth control and the heartbeat of God," she replies; as she hones in on a fragment of Saltine.
Jeremy grins, sits back, and lets her go. He can relate to the plane his girl is treading.
He pulls a medicine bottle out of his jacket pocket, cracks the lid, and prescribes himself six blue Xanax for stress and reality negation. No muss, no fuss comedown; without the meltdown. 'Life is good,' fleetingly tickers through his mind's eye as neurotransmitters joust for rule over a declining kingdom that is Jeremy Matheson's conventional brain.
"Honey,"
"Yeah, Jer?"
"I'm gonna exit, stage left. Let me know if God's heart skips a beat, 'k?"
"Jesus was a barefoot politician, ya know."
"Yeah..... I know, baby...... I know."
