The Moon On My Planet
There is this thing about the apartment building I live in: it has a basement that has not been fixed up in any way or cleaned in at least the last fifty years. There is a spot beside the stairs where a secondary layer of cement has warped upward, and I like to walk on it so that I can hear the hollow, crusty sound it makes and pretend I am walking on the surface of the moon.
You're all, that is not seriously her buiding's basement, is it? That window is seriously not fifteen feet away from the laundry machines, is it? Oh, yes, it most seriously is.
The moon on my planet needs a maid.
I am on this fantastic new drug called Extra Strength NeoCitran Warming Relief for Chest Congestion & Cold. My lips are numb, and my eyeballs have this weird feeling they get when I go to the optometrist and he puts anaesthetic drops in my eyes before the dilating drops, only I can see better and I am not weeping chemicals uncontrollably out of my eyes.
I know that I have veered away from the original dirty window topic, but that is for the best. There was a little sack of spider eggs in that mess of cobwebs, and I do not want to keep thinking about how all these little spider babies could hatch out at any time, because I have to go back down there tomorrow to dye some clothes black for my rebirthing goth aesthetic.
NeoCitran, you are sweet
to first freeze, then to give heat,
numb my eyeballs, lips, and feet,
and make me dance on old concrete.
Could I drink you just for fun,
I would drink 'til there was none,
but my brain will not be dumb,
so i won't be a cough syrup bum.
Woh. Now I am embarrassing myself. Time for another dose. My theory is that if I am unable to type, I won't type, and that is the key to this evening's success. Also, the feeling is coming back to my eyeballs, and we can't have that, now can we?