a sincere apology to the Beast

my shoulder is sore like no tomorrow.  the reason is curiously shrouded, lost in the passing time, but  I'm thinking perhaps falling off my bike because I was sober was the cause.  or maybe it was directly related to the decision to dig ferocious holes through the earth with a stolen pick ax.  it's hard to say, and as far as I can see there are no witnesses forthcoming.  fuck 'em.  where this really starts is a day or so ago.  I was sent home from work early, unexpectedly mind you and to the detriment of my financial stability, but as I was feeling a little less than one hundred due to my latest two day bender, I was quietly grateful.  the original plan was to bike home directly, work, write, drink tea, and in general behave well and mannerly, which is to say, watch movies on the internet.  but distractions are quick and drive black nissan's, and once again I deviated from the path.  however, I maintain no complaint.  though I did not go home, I did peacefully spend the twilight hour on a 2nd story balcony above the insects and the heat and then new orleans; I held court with Patient Zero.  interrupted only once by the ugliest fucking dog known to man, for hours we smoked cigarettes and extended conversation among other things, and drank the champagne of beers exclusively until the sun melted away somewhere far into the pacific and bled into the sky above us.  nicely toasted I felt good and singular and well-timed and finally I made my departure as the street lights made their presence known.  but this was not to be the end of me.  the night previous I had had my face buried in the naked cleavage of the stunning local bartenders, disarming loaded shot glasses with my teeth among other feats of extraordinary cunning.  thinking back on it, this could also be the source of my current bodily pain, but that is a contortionist's tale for another day.  nevertheless, I found myself still entrenched in the memory, wanting more and I knew then for certain I was in for another indestructible evening on my own and was going to need heavy reinforcements if I was going to bring it to a close.  so I went home, changed my shirt and left for the bar, walking the line between devilishly charming and "firing up the enola gay" as the saying goes.  and behind shots of chartreuse backed by shots of pernod and a sinner's gate, I set off into the night alone in search of the weak.  I have not been one for company among my peers these days.  I treat them poorly and with calculated malice, and though these actions may be trite and not always premeditated, it makes no matter.  to spare my friends I have tried to become a solitary creature, skinned and wielding my own sharpened bones against the Beast that preys on True Believers.  but even the wicked and ghastly need good company and I have been summarily neglecting my most base companion for too long.  it has been time we remade our acquaintance, molded a new sense of balance.  I owe him this gratitude and to this, together we made it to the outskirts of the french quarter, ate heartily an italian and drank only water to spite the normality of the scene.  it was good and untarnished by ill behavior, marked only by the silent reconciliation between the insane.  I don't remember much beyond, nor the ride home.