Coffee Mornings, Whiskey Nights

A long time ago, I wrote a poem (yah, I know, I'm a fuckin' poet, too) for a good friend that struggled with poetry and art work. She had talent, but her poetry was limited by her knowledge of the English language and her education. I have a very zen painting she did for me on an old piece of barn wood here in my office.

The poem was "Coffee Mornings, Cocaine Afternoons." It was pretty damn good, and has been published in a few places. It hearkened back to my days of dancing with the white lady, and was filled with bittersweet memories and rage at the machine.

Now I find it is coffee mornings and whiskey nights. I suppose my shrink would love to play with that one - trading one addiction for another. That is what we, as lowly human beings, do. My Rosie laughs at me when I tell her that dogs are smarter than we are. Ever see a dog with a hangover, or Jonesing for that next big fat line? Doubt it...

I grow older. I feel the effects of aging on my poor old bod every day. But with age comes wisdom, or so I am told. so I sit here, high in the tower of the Beechler building, and write away.

Fuck it, don't mean nothin'

Drive on...

Charlie~