Seen through the green haze of NyQuill
the world is a confused, confusing mash.
Vapor rises off mint tea, fingers thick
fumble the spoon. Soon to bed. Soon.
If I Get a Tattoo
I’m thinking of getting a literary tattoo, should I decide to ad art to my sagging carcass. “Live with Morality,” maybe, or “Do What’s Right, Not What’s Easy.” The first has fewer letters and probably wouldn’t hurt as much.
Maybe I should get my ear pierced first or something, just to see how I react to needles.
I have a buddy who had his band’s logo tattooed on his arm. Then he got a job in Houston and moved away… I wonder if his musical replacement got the same tattoo. Probably not.
Icky Icky Icky
I found out yesterday that I gotta have an operation on my schnozz. Turns out my beak’s bent on the inside. My septum is a deviant. So they’re gonna straighten things out in a few weeks.
The doc peeked at my file. “Oh, you had a sleep study done a while back. Why did you do that?”
“Because I can’t sleep.” (You’d think the doctor would be able to figure THAT out on his own.)
“It says here that you don’t have sleep apnea or anything, but you’re only getting 60% of the oxygen your brain needs. That’s not good.” The doctor paused to look at me. “How do you feel?”
“Stupid, for the most part,” I answered.
“I can understand.”
The doctor says he can fix my proboscis, and there’s a good chance that’ll fix my sleeping problem. He said he didn’t know if he could fix my stupid, though.
During part of the exam the doctor got out a hose and shoved it up my nose. That hurt. And I mean he didn’t just, you know, peek politely in my nose — he jammed the tube at last eight inches into my head. “Oh, I see you had your tonsils out.”
I just hope the operation doesn’t keep me from working. And I hope I have work to do.