cockblocked by faulkner

oh, hey.

i wasn't opposed to going out or staying in but feeling somewhat complacent (rare) - a roommate going to a design school shindig another going to a downtown club hoping to pickup a suburban broad (with pigtails i imagine another in florida working on behalf of voter registration last talkin about goin' to a party down the street, and you're speaking my tune right then.

so. her friend from undergrad came over with her ninja-doctor-boyfriend and they played video games, so on, me, drinking, waiting.

we left.

david bowie's album art was hosting the party - the keg pleased me, and so i stood in my costume probably nobody understood - i'd shaven my beard but kept the stache, dressed appropriately as a political activist ('68 mugshot) who's been featured in the news as being linked to a u.s. prsdent candidate - the wholes in my jeans - under the moniker of a domestic terrorist. my roommate sally was a doctor-viking and the ninja-doctor-boyfriend's-girlfriend was a football player rugby player. the fiesta also featured idaho, mastercard, futuristic moon chick, and i was getting on with the plant from little shop of horrors who i also believe was my roommates friend.

and man... we DANCED! - i mean, danced - like... danced! (spin, sugar, spin!)

the d.j. was a first-rate disaster, but wot i'm sayin' is

we took a break and talked about people's costumes which made us both punch pleased and then went outside for a smoke - a young curious pleasant fellow ambled down the street toward us - in his boston accident -

"do you guys think they'll let me into the pahty? look, i wore my yale shirt and everything!" being not dressed in costume, and in heartbreaking earnestness, he unzipped his black parka, proudly showing his yale shirt, which looked like anyother shirt with buttons.

"yeah, man, they'll let you in," i told him.

so he romped up the steps (rocky) but dejectedly came back down telling us that the beer had run out, then said -

"you two like each other, huh? why don't you just leave? i mean, you're out here talking close, she's beautiful, right?"

"yeah, she's beautiful," i said, and she was - she being giggles now, and me telling the lad that he doesn't want to be a talk show host and that there were various spirits and tinctures in the party and go check it out.

so, now, things being blurry, but i recall seeing faulkner dancing, and she had been speaking with him friendly friendslike, and i had to replace faulkner's dimwitted void with the name he was hopelessly searching for: foxy brown. and now me, her, faulkner, some others out back in garden for a bit, and then leaving.

on the sidewalk, andrea, her name told me she saw our lad sipping a drink, bobbing his head on the cleared out dancefloor - swells, i'm inviting her to my place, though faulkner too joins in with his other friend i don't know what's wot - arriving back, smoke tea, cool, (roommates also being home, one cooking spaghetti sauce with girlfriend, other living nice, last, asleep) - and then explosive, frenzied exchange (lambasting) with (at) faulkner 'bout literature on the deck.

final vision. eyes locked for about eternity but still and lock-jawed as i sat seething, paralyzed, mais dumb drunk - her head was on backwards as she left last after other girl and faulkner too.

ah, life.

lou reed, take me back.