JUNE 3, 2005 Balcony Musings

And the thing that really makes it ironic, is that it isn’t.

And so the bottle opener from the Bahamas easily opened the bottle of Red Stripe from Jamaica. There begins the longest 50 minutes in history. The bright star or planet, whatever the fuck I’m told it could be, just edged past the corner of the building into my view. Twenty thousand lightening bugs and one BP gas station parking lot away was the only single flashing piece of modern technology in the town of Jefferson. The brights from that car, even that far away, actually allowed me to read on my beer bottle, “For over 75 years Red Stripe has embodied the spirit, rhythm and pulse of Jamaica and its people.” Only now do I read by lamp light, that it was imported by Guinness USA in Stamford, CT. Jamaican beer, imported by an Irish brewing company with an office in Connecticut. But see, there is no irony in that. Not a slippin drop.

I honestly had no frigging idea why I was out on the deck tonight. In fact, I don’t know how I even got into this walk out level basement rental on 25 elevated acres over the Potomac. Oh, well it wasn’t my deck, it was that of one of the other wayward souls on Marl Lu ridge. I was just enjoying the weather from a venue 50 feet higher. Two divorces, four pregnancies, a half a dozen graduations, and 3 Red Stripes down the dusty road of “halfway their,” and I’m figuring, who in the hell owns this computer I’m typing own. Like a wriggley’s spearmint gum wrapper, or one of those aluminum beer tabs later, I’m trying to figure since when is Bill Gates solely the reason for my ability to put ridiculous fucking thoughts down into binary coding. And why are plastic beer bottles available to m? And I’m not talking about the now, hell if YOU are reading this, I’m making money – nothing ridiculous about that. Or I’m dead.

Hm, it’s just odd how it all comes together into a thousand pieces. The guy who invented number 2 pencil lead is mindlessly poking at his mashed potatoes with his chin resigned into the palm of his hand. What did I do wrong? Nobody carries a pencil anymore.

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