Positively Niagra Street

And so many poker analogies come to mind... chasing flushes and straights and Russian and Italian Oxford girls down the river; wired pairs of Vodka-Red Bull inspiring misplaced senses of destiny that morph into color-coded, felt-tipped marker induced lines, written as it is in a beat-poetry style flat of Bourbon St. signs and multiple Marilyn posters. Complete with deja vu all over again sentiments, of course... Yet these are but wild and whirling words, my lord... therefore as a stranger on the couch of the ancient and complex Niagra pad we must give them welcome, Horatio. It is a fair distance from the misty mountain tops to such an apartment and the incomprehensibility of emotional attachments. If the descent Eliot was attempting to describe belonged to the cynic, even despite his lyricism I cannot buy it, as rhetorically grand as the questions might be. For even in the depths of ridiculousness, how to explain finding yourself here at 10:19AM - of all places - without waxing quickly into some type of majestic ode to the power of randomness, spontaneity, and friendship. Fill the verse with those incomprehensible human elements of envy without enviousness (?) over grand ideas who personify themselves as people, and ramble on inexplicably over mysterious longing for appreciation and love and art and hilarity all at once, with romantic compulsions brought out through multiplicitous, addictive beverages... Oh there are more things in heaven and earth then are dreamt of in such philosophy! And to quote Eliot at his true finest - It is impossible to say just what I mean - As if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen... And so leave it at that, with hopes for Sweet Child of Mine kareoke this evening, and a final resolution to the secret broken window. As the madness continues...