MILT-WEED and SEBORRHEA

Fragments Of A Journal Entry (2)

(Dec 15/05)
It has been one year to the day that I started Fragments Of A Journal Entry (1). So it seem only fitting that I begin FOAE (2) on the same day, December 15, 2005. Nothing much, I fear, has changed, except for a new titanium shoulder, a seven-inch surgical scar, two poems published, and a litany of other unimportant nonesuch. I will, however, continue where I left off, the hiatus, so to speak, having come to an end, and see what nonsensical drivel I can amuse myself with. Baring that, the practice, drivel and blather, no less, will be good for me. There will be no overly salacious italicizing, nor bolding of typeface and font, however, I cannot promise that what I scribble on these pages will be of any use to anyone other than myself. Perhaps another who’s predilections and wont are togged with Dylanesque livers and a gourmands eye for the absurd and hackneyed, but beyond that, no one I can either think of nor care to think of should I feel compelled to, which, I assure you, I don’t.

A cuckold’s worth of mid-December snow, more snow than one eager kid with an aluminum snow shovel could ever-possibly heave over bank and hedging. I recall such heaving though with infinitely less enthusiasm or puerile eagerness. But snow is, is it not, a Christmas tradition, as are plum pudding, plastic icicles, and fat men in derelict trousers and scratchy synthetic beards. I remember one Christmas, one I will not soon forget, when there was such a dumping of snow I couldn’t even go outside for a Taylor-made and a dingus’ worth of Dry Vermouth and Ternary Gin. I was twelve at the time, and infinitely more interested in gin-jiggers and Export A’s, the ultra strong ones, than new toys and lemon slurry plum pudding my dear grand mama made in a Chock Full O’ Nuts tin with tinfoil skirling the edgings. But then again, I was twelve, a hardened smoker with a preference for dry liquors and black licorice babies, and that fucking Indian chewing tobacco that was actually shredded coconut browned with some gods’ awful resin that stuck to the spaces between your teeth. And your tongue, the fucking stuff stained that so fucking brown you’d think you’d been licking the bunghole of some furless dog with seborrhea and milt worms.