High School at Night...

I remember the days when I used to get my buzz from coffee. It was one of those things I felt newly indoctrinated into then (I would, later in my life, find myself feeling the same things toward alcohol, my ill sentiment toward beer notwithstanding). Its effects were new and exhilirating, not to mention helpful, in the face of my immense academic load.

There was something else about this substance attracted me. It got the blood pumping. I noticed this after a hit of three cartons of RTD coffee (it was a tetrapacked ready to drink brew, new then). I had accidentally opened a wound in the shower. I didn't mind. It didn't hurt. And so I carried on with my business - until looked down, and saw that the whole area of the shower floor pooled bright red and spackled with clots.

I am a large person and I have since learned that I can afford to lose that much blood and more.

I suppose that scene sparked a taste for that sort of beauty, so that's why I started painting in blood. No Anacel, it wasn't a secret, and you really ought to have told everyone because they probably already knew. The secrets of why and what did they mean, you didn't seem so keen for then, and probably even less so now.

Suffice it to say they exist. And despite my vocal nature, I have very scary secrets. I only wish people expressed appropriate interest in them, so I could turn them down as they asked while feeling good about myself.

I miss coffee like I miss sleep and dreams. I miss dreams. Those I wake up from tired and gasping. But it's tough when you miss the city and the open ocean.

Booze is different from coffee, but everyone has their reasons and every story has its time. Just not today for beer