the quarts of beer sat nearby. they were all empty of course. four in all, glorious empty amber bottles. and the beer will keep coming. aluminum cans. more amber bottles. all night, into the night, etc, etc. that’s what we give, and sure enough, that’s what we will receive. well, don’t be so cynical. you start a drinking streak and its like letting loose a wild rabid horse in the throes of the holocaust. when the clouds part they show absolutely nothing because deep inside they know nothing. neither does a screaming roommate. or a militant supervisor. or a girl from the past who wants to get to know you better. what’s better than the past? the future is this life’s victim. the smoky sullen eyes of the chair that only seats the forgotten. it takes no pleasure, it has no qualms and yet it dishes only anger. the candles are extinguished because they are created by a man. a man is a flame that burns, burns, and burns. have I foreseen my own death? anyone who has dreamed has asked himself that question. or forms of that question. has ones death already been embedded in one’s own DNA? the outcome will keep you guessing until it finally comes. thought becomes thing, as they say. keeping that in mind, can one reverse the terror he unknowingly bestows upon himself? is there no room to spare imagination? I am living now. That is a certainty, if even for the night. But realize, I will be living even more tomorrow. And there is nothing more frightening than tomorrow.

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