Good and Stoned

I want to get stoned.
I don’t need to get stoned. I just want to get stoned.
I so hope my friend will again bring me some pin joints.
It’s the only time I look forward to waiting for the man.
Unless I am getting a package from the big city and that’s happening less and less these days.

I want a pepperoni pizza.
I don’t need a pepperoni pizza. I just want a pepperoni pizza.
The coupons are sitting on the table and I so wish my mother would take the hint and order us a large pepperoni pizza and a two liter of coke.
It’s the only time I feel like talking to anyone.
When the delivery arrives I am on my feet and out the door faster than a speeding bullet.

My life lessons are not sinking in. And my survival instincts have been out to lunch since 2002.
I haven’t had steady employment for so long I’m not even sure if it’s day or night.
Please understand I am not bragging in the least little bit. In fact I am scared of the uncertainty of my future and why it is I am unable to make any plans stick.
My best friend died in 1998 and that surely took some wind out of my sails, but I know that’s hardly the reason I am at such a loss when it comes to living and thriving.
I’ve never used my being an artist as an excuse, justification or rationale for the piss poor way I get along and I refuse to start now.

I want to leave this place.
I don’t mean die or anything permanent like that. I just want to float for a little while and let my guard down and let my freak flag fly.
I so hope I’ll hear from my friend again soon. I am curious how his music projects are coming along.
We begin and we end with the sentences we construct from ether and bone. I know I’ve made a lasting impression. Now if only I could find the blueprints I left out in the pouring rain.

Charles Cicirella
2/4/15