dark horse
2008-02-25 3:29 a.m.

what do you mean, party at our house last night? i don't know what party you refer to.

i was enjoying a cigarette on the porch steps, saying to ryan and to t-styles, man, this is the life. the weather is perfect. friends and cigarettes on the porch steps.

then i had to put out my cigarette for the cop. to him, the good cop--not that second bad cop--to him i say, you are awesome, perhaps you wanted to sleep with me? perhaps you will forgive me for lying about my weight, perhaps you will go to neighborhood barbecues and tell your friends stories of the drunk and stoned writing grad students to whom you warned of playing the trombone on the porch, of the one with the wet, drunk, happy blue eyes whom you didn't arrest despite his pleas.

to our gentrified condo-whore neighbors, who moved into their spacious, sterile, faux-brownstone homes, who wanted culture and hipness comparable to city life, but who also wanted peace and population density comparable to living alone in a shack in the everglades, and who were miffed to learn that downtown life in a college town implies proximity to young people throwing parties on saturday nights, and who think calling the police repeatedly is a fine solution to the problem, like calling an exterminator to rid the garden of termites--

take your money and buy a horse and ride the fuck away. or treat us like adults. i have never taken the side of the noise-makers in my life--but my blood boils at the idea of rich people moving in and thinking they have the right to change the prior environment to suit their needs, to match their fucking american dreams--oh man, i have to change the subject.

i hate when i rant. i used to do it a lot more in here. but being angry is an unpleasant emotion that my system can't process. it's like eating grass.

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me: "where are all these mosquitos coming from?"
chris: "from my asshole."

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i saw diablo cody win the oscar for original screenplay. could i do that? i like to write dialogue. i wonder if i could. perhaps it is time for me to join the ranks of all those folks who are continually working on a screenplay.

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what i really want:
a cupcake, some sex, a glass of barely chilled water. i had a few other things in mind, weather-related specifics. but that's just about it.

i mean, i'm not counting personal traits i would like to possess.

the title refers to nothing in particular; i like the imagery of the phrase. dark horse.