by Beth Rogers
Saturday, June 28, 2003
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I see you standing in
more or less the same spot
watching each and every time I
come into this place of...
hypocracy for me.
I'd like to introduce myself
to you, I'd like to find out
who you are. I'd like to tell
you my story and I'd like to
say that when you look up
toward the sky in harsh daylight
and think of God, I think of the
same creator spirit that lives
among the natives here.
Perhaps too obscure for you.
Me, I live for controversy and
a shocked reaction is the best
one to look for. So I search
for love in the wine. I look
for attention in anything I can
find. So far, only confusion
when I seek clarity in shooting
down the schnaps. Life can
be brutal and hard like stone
Frozen cynical and trapped
in the souls of so many.
Still, through my eyes you might
see language as a virus and cruelty
a true religion. No wonder that
with days like this only the
strong care for survival.
That in times like these it's best
to feel an animal deep inside,
to feel deadly with thoughts
of sweet vindication. My name
means new intensity, holds a fighting
spirit at all costs, could almost
kill for a promise at some absolute
peace of mind. I feel a ravenous
hunger for your complete and utter
disgust. Only a constant fool would
ask so openly for this pain which is
familiar, even comforting
to live with. How else could I dare
you to throw me challenging questions
designed to cut down even further.
Why do I drink?
So that I can go home alone to write
and still hold conversations
with an idiot.