Drink Drank Punk

So... I couldn't sleep. Wow. Not really a surprise. Thought about taking some benzos to get me off to sleep, but I think it's all bad. I'm going to stay away from all of that shit for as long as I can, or unless this insomnia thing gets way out of hand. It's annoying as fuck.

Last night, I was puking my guts out on the pavement of Tompkins Square Park. I've been sick there once before, but that was 2 years ago. I was lying down, my other wasted friend Steven was flicking water on my face, keeping me awake, making sure I didn't pass out. Excessive alcohol consumption + caffeine + 110 degree weather = lots of puking. The first time I puked I was half laying down on the ground, the second time I was sitting up on a bench, and ended up puking on my boots. Nasty nasty stuff. My friend Milo was kind enough to get me to the subway and buy me a ride. I don't like drinking. Milo and I both have done a lot of drugs, I was (I'm pretty sure) yelling at him about how I hate alcohol and how I'd rather just get fucked up if I'm gonna be puking like this, etc. etc.. I think I was also harassing hipsters as we walked ot the subway. A water covered, vomit smelling, drunk punk kid being held up by her much larger, biker/GG Allin looking friend--we must have been some sight. Haha, but it was all in good fun. I've felt like shit all day, but i don't know I'm feeling a bit happier right now. I was down like an hour ago, but I think my mood has leveled off.

I got into Trash Bar this week to perform as well. It's this obscenely difficult to get into bar that hosts a lot of punk show, and being my 19 year old self, I was a tad concerned if I would REALLY get in. But my bf's band gave me stuff to carry, so that got me in the door. Once I was in the backroom where the stage was, it was super dark and I figured I was finally in the clear. Then some guy came up, one of the workers who checks ID. He asked us all to show him our IDs, and I was like: FUCK. I pretended to look for my wallet in my bag and calmly stated to my bf P that I must have left it at his house. The man then started shining hte light in my face, and asked me how old I am. It went down something like this:

Him (standing over me with a flashlight): How old are you?

(shines light on my face)

Me (bending over my bag, stand up): I'm 23.

(He continues to shine the light in my face)

Me (sticking out my tongue and opening my mouth wide): I feel like I'm at a Dr. appointment. How does my throat look?

He then laughed and stamped my hand. And history was made. In my mind.

Anyway, I'm going to try out this whole sleeping thing. Here's a poem I wrote tonight. It's terrible. Enjoy!

Another junky-child asleep on the asphalt

I could hear her shrill silent scream

It left the air empty

Like the dry heat of summer

I curled up in a ball beside her

The shallow moonlight lit the gray tracks of tears on the sheets

My loneliness played across the room

I tried to remember why Paris always seemed better at night

But then I let out another silent scream

For relief of this yearning

The deep-seated, empty belly syndrome

That left us on our knees every night

Praying at that empty altar

Waiting for a moment

Of pure silence

After the sermon had stopped

I found myself surrounded

By these thoughts

Too numerous to stop

The rambling of an amphetamine brain

But without the amphetamine

Tears seemed to fall slowly

Rolling down as if to savor the moment

That feeling of pure desire

The roll and ebb

Flowing up and down my spinal chord

Playing my body like a harp

And leaving my brain to reel

Now there is no scream

Just silence

An empty mind

Which now only simmers.