This!
At last. At last!
All the mornings. All the strained, crapulous, straining-to-crap mornings. The self-deprecatory, lavatory matins, gazing at a gaseous stomach, the guilt, the grief, internal monologues, head like a cave where a morality play is playing. All the gnawings. All the despair. The mad Rechabite mind soliloquies. The pangs, the pains, the worry. The dread. Anxiety at zinc and iron depletion, spermatozoal inadequacy. All the humiliation. The abasement of the self that follows abuse of the body. The drumming of the brain, the dripping tap. The grog blossom. The queerness, the wooziness, arthritic hip joints and sticky eyes. The dehydration, the thirst. All the nausea. The temulent, tremulous hands, the ebrious heart. The lack of worth. The loneliness, the closetedness. The twinges, the chafing, the gripe, the backache, the pancreatic possibilities. All the farts. The relentless, silently birthed, mephitic farts. All the tongue ulcers, the gum sores. The fatigue, the malaise. All the pins and needles. The cramps and formications. The sense of slow poison. The murky, tenebrous stirrings in the gut, that fathomless deep. All the promises, abstemious good intentions, aims dissolved in dissoluteness. Desuetude of will, decadence of restraint. All the vacillations and all the deceptions. Inconstancy. Incontinence. Intemperance. All the dissipation and profligate prodigality. All the hummings in the ear, the siren voices, the unreal hunger in the belly. All the drink.
At last. At last!
At last, after all the woes, all the plaintive whispers, all the waste. The atrophied muscles, murdered cells. The wracked sinews. The rent tissue. The panic, the fear. Nightmares, fantasies. The riot. The excess. The extravagance. All the abandon, the fecklessness, and all the blame. All the apologies. The loathing, the disgust. The heat. The cold. All the ugliness. The drifting, the floating, the going nowhere. The sensualism, the grossness. After all the deadness, all the gloom, the megrim. After all the writhing, the twisting, all the fidgeting and twitching. After all the pacing to and fro and around, around. After all the clutching at straws.
At last.
After all the platitudes, equivocations, regrets. After all the vows. After all the rumblings, all the gurglings. After everything. After all the self-confrontations, the anguish. After all the painkillers. After all the coffee, all the raw eggs. After all the minutes and all the hours. After all the superstition and contrition. After all the entreaties and undertakings. After all, after all. After all the despondency, degradation, depression. After all the clearing up and washing up. After all the consoling, reassuring, philosophizing. After all the vitamin tablets and grapefruit juice. All the dizziness. After all the jaundiced looks, the taking stock, all the bootstrap tugging, all the sage reflections, all the oblivion and blackout, all the pretence, all the shoulder shrugging, all the mordancy.
At last, after it all _ this.
This!
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:27 PST