Sunday, April 28, 2013

Mexican Daze - Modelo

cerveza not wine is today's drink of choice.  it is hot out, and this is the mexican desert so i drink beer and my choice is modelo

a dog friend and i are sitting at the waters edge.  we're not really on beach but it more a small cove that fisherman use to launch their boats.  it is soft sand, warm to the touch.  i'm sitting on the sand, leaning up again one of the fishing boats, relaxing, writing.  the dog and i are working on polishing off a six pack of beer and a bag of chips.  he's a stray and i'm a foreigner.  both considered outsider in this land, we've found eachother, in that we've found happiness.

starring out at the water it is a vibrant blue green.  so rich in color that it almost looks fake, only the fact that i am actually here makes me know this color is real.  my friend seems to be studying it too.  I wonder what goes through a dogs head as he takes in our shared ocean view;  i'm thinking about work.  two days from now i'll be back home, back to work, back to drinking wine in my temperate climate.  I give the my friend a few more chips and a sip of beer to wash it down.  patting his head i go back to staring out across the water toward the horizon.

we are on our second to last modelo, the bag of ships mostly crumbs.  taking another swig of beer, i rub my buddies back.  relaxed he lays his head down.  i lean deeper again the boat (at least i attempt to) as i relax as well.  tonight i'll enjoy fish tacos, my dog friend i'm sure has a hustle in mind, such is the life of a stray.  could i survive here i wonder.  as if to reassure me the dog licks at my hand.  i pour him the rest of the beer.

the sun is beginning to hang low.  my dog and i have one last beer to share.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Write Wrong Drink Right

"you write it for me!"  i've taken a stern tone with the freshly opened bottle of wine.  looking at it crossly, i'm not paying attention to the label.  it's a red, perhaps a cab or maybe a merlot.  at second sip it's likely that affordable cab/merlot i grabbed off the shelf a few weeks back.  "for the price i'm sure it's drinkable", i thought out loud.  if it blows me away i can always note the label later.

weeks removed from that harmless purchase, i'm now talking with the once ignored bottle.  in truth the exchange of words is more the soliloquy of a desperate writer who lost his voice.  so I talk with a bottle, "you wirte it for me." i repeat.

inspiration has left me. my muse gone, i search for her in the most cliche places.  in a bottle (one must wonder) how drunk of me to look for a genie in a bottle.  my words are best when they resonate with the divine, no trite genie.  I should get down with a goddess.  Pondering the thought of get'n down, i enjoy the rest of the nameless cab/merlot.

after the bottle it's back to work.  this life doesn't write itself