Part 1: A day like this.
M:
You wake up on a day like this.
D:
There is an alarm or there isn’t an alarm.
M:
Either way you are robbed of your dreams.
D:
You wake up on a day like this.
M:
There was something in your dream that made you horny but you can’t remember what.
D:
There are clothes to wear.
M:
Appearances to be made.
D:
Coins to grift.
M:
You wake up on a day like this and the poison of living seeps in.
D:
It’s one of those days where the moon shows up in broad daylight.
M:
You don’t tell people that every time you wake up it feels like you’ve lost something.
D:
What did you lose?
M:
Your wallet?
D:
A taste of the infinite?
M:
Something to do with the unshakable notion that you’re not where you’re meant to be?
D:
You brush your teeth.
M:
Or you don’t.
D:
But you probably do.
M:
You drink coffee or tea or whiskey.
D:
You take a shit.
M:
If you’re an overachiever you take a shower.
D:
There’s breakfast. They say it’s the most important meal of the day.
M:
But we now know that they only say that because the breakfast food lobby is more powerful than the other meal lobbies.
D:
Did you know that America invented the breakfast?
M:
Showed the chickens how to lay eggs, and taught the swine how to be delicious.
Part 2: Doing things
M:
It’s time to do something now.
D:
There are so many things to do.
M:
So many choices that you can make if you choose.
D:
A day is filled with possibility.
M:
There is no possibility.
D:
A day is filled with possibility.
M:
Everything you do is at the expense of something you could’ve done.
D:
This is called Opportunity Cost.
M:
You try to read a book and have an orgasm every day.
D:
Feed the brain and clean the pipes.
M:
You go to your job if you have one…
D:
and you make your bosses rich.
M:
Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that you like your job; that it’s tolerable.
D:
But somewhere deep down is a nagging suspicion that it could be a whole lot better.
M:
You bury those hours in an unmarked grave and go back whence you came.
Part 3: Going home
D:
On the way, you notice that everything is a territory. Barbed wire strangles the frontier.
M:
You eye your neighbor with suspicion. You think he’s trying to take your shit. You are not your brother’s keeper.
D:
Everything is a copy of its realer self. And you begin to wonder if you’ve ever seen anything real in your life.
M:
You drink to the unrealness until the copies are blurred. You write in red lipstick on any surface you can find. The message reads, “Babylon has fallen.”
Part 4: Time to unwind
D:
Back in the confines of your abode you play loud music loud, pour more drinks, and make a toast to everything in your house: chairs, lamps, tables, your own shadow.
M:
You toast to each individual piece of cutlery in your silverware drawer, and their corresponding shadows.
D:
You toast to gravity, wind, and the concept of linear time.
M:
You toast every historical figure you can think of, from Sam Adams to Emiliano Zapata.
D:
Eventually you toast to the act of toasting. You toast to the act of sleep.
Part 5: Bedtime
M:
After you do whatever bedtime rituals you’ve accumulated over the years, you settle into your sleeping place.
D:
You dream of a world without fences and you are free to move in any direction.
M:
You burned all your money and that’s okay. You don’t need it anymore. Money is only a signifier for the era of brutality.
D:
In this world everyone is nomadic, moving from town to town on horseback.
M:
Cities are supply stations and the sky is free of spectres.
D:
This is what you dream every night. And every morning you forget.
M:
The dream is what is lost as you move in a world of ghosts.
M L Woldman is the founder of Austin Poets’ Union and former Editor-in-Chief of Voluminous Crux Magazine. They have appeared in Austin Chronicle, The Daily Drunk, Dwelling Lit, Selcouth Station, and Serotonin, among others. Twitters: @MLWoldman @atxpoets
Denver Williams is a musician from Fort Worth, TX. He is the host of the Blah Blah Blah Yadda Yadda Podcast. Twitter: @DenverWilliamsx