May 07, 2004

For three hours I sat by the window in Cafe 1842 drinking coffee from a large and oddly triangular cup and reading the Tropic of Cancer. The words and the aromas made my brain whirl with ideas and excitement. I was reading about cunts with a hard-on in my pants when I looked up and saw Regan passing on the sidewalk. Hyper as hell, I ran into the street after him nearly knocking down the senile old man standing in the doorway.

He didn’t seem to recognize me when I finally caught up to him, and I was worried that Brian got to him too. I started blurting out unintelligible fragments of thought, and with a glimmer of recognition in our eyes we headed back to the Cafe: more coffee; stories about Mormons and jukeboxes flying in the kitchen; Boire and Utopia; writing and blogs; Britney Spears and beards. A jumble of ideas spilled out of our heads and landed on the table flopping their slimy wings.

We decided to write an instructions manual — Baby Steps to Neurosis. It will tell people how to fuck deeply while also teaching them to feel, fight, flee, and feed. We’ll help people become savage flailures — they’ll just have to open our Moebius book at any page and read.

Once our bellies were full of coffee and our papers full of notes, we decided to walk down King St. looking for buildings to climb. The city is best seen from a rooftop — there you can scream, spin, and see the sky. We went in circles and ended up in the park where we pissed out the coffee in our veins. In the darkness, we found boats and swings and enough excitement to keep me up until 5 o’clock in the morning.

I no longer need fully functional kidneys — I just need coffee.