Rose-colored glasses

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. It does a fucking number on me. I'm high on coffee as I write. Productive as no other- while it lasts- then CRASH. I came up with 5 quality thesis ideas this morning on 2 hours of sleep thanks to a small Dunkin Donuts coffee (milk and sugar). All the while I'm actually paying attention to what is going on in class, interested as hell. The things she says are never this fascinating. Must be the coffee. Making me ponder every little detail and statistic.

I won't blab on in my coffee stupor any longer. Cupa cupa cupa that stuff, mmmm. (Huh?) My views on coffee (and other stimulants/anti-depressants) are kind of mixed. Here's a poem I wrote last year on the subject:


A Cup of Average Joe

Slow-motion mushroom cloud
Brewing in my thoughts.
Drip drip that wonderful drip

Manic ruminations percolate
as its sweetness coats my mind,
poisons my senses.

Loans, Exam, Appointment,
Jobs, Lethargy, Cold,
Homeless man,
Crying baby,
Pessimism,
Apathy,
Death;
No.
Travel
Pretty tree
Energetic stroll
Exciting future plans
Simple silly giddy gabbing

Cynicism gone
And suddenly I give a smile
to everyone I know
and everyone I don’t know
unable to control my thoughts,
emotions,
involuntary, peppy swinging of arms
uncontrollable, upbeat external soundtrack
conforming to the beat of my steps
and my attempt to shed the rhythm
only leads to an erratic tribal drum pattern

Blackness
hidden
by milk and sugar

Drip – Drip – Drip, that tedious drip.


Starbucks sells soma
on the corner
for $1.25

Oh, Starbucks
Filter the plausibility away.