Klinorynchy and the Evolution of the Toxins
Klinorynchy: horizontal mid-face shortening, defined more specifically as rotation of the splanchnocranium under the neurocranium; not to be confused in the dictionary with curling iron, Allen wrench, or clown around.
Toxins, apparently, my body no longer wishes to swim in. I came late to the liquors. I didn’t drink until I was almost 21. Then I left for graduate school where it didn’t take long before I came to feel self-conscious about the frequency with which I stopped by the liquor store. Finally I systematically visited a liquor store here, the one down the road, the one in the grocery store, breaking things up so I wasn’t stopping by the same one every day. I guess the self-consciousness is another psycho-bear to grapple with. Afternoons, after class, after commenting on my students’ writing, after visiting the libraries and record store, I’d make the liquor stop and at home begin. Then I would visit a bar, usually the same one down the street from my apartment, and often I’d enjoy a bedtime beer at home before sleeping.
I hadn’t expected this from me. My mom is a drinker and her drunken flares scared my young self into a self-righteous straight edge for a long while. Anyway, there it was. I familiarized myself with the multi-day hangover. I vomited whiskey from an otherwise empty stomach for the first time. I fell in drunken love severally. I wept chronically at chronic sublimity. One strung night over an Ouija board my eyes wobbled loosely in my noggin. I hallucinated. Generous friends from afar regularly received the rambling night fruits of my drunken head through e-mail.
I drank a lot then. I know a bulk of people whose drinking is darker and fatter, but still I could handle many drinks. Is it age, or is it bodily transformation? Lower tolerance? Or is it that out of oversight I made four-cheese Doritos and chocolate cake my dinner last night? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t seem to take much of anything anymore. In fact, since I moved to New Jersey a few years ago I’ve learned that marijuana causes me to pass flat out on impact. I had smoked only a few times ever anyway, but I’d never passed out. Now I also steer away from tequila and step lightly around whiskey. That’s after twice vomiting and passing out in the lawn of the house where I now coincidentally live, along with having vomited on the streets of both Philadelphia and New York City out the door of a car. That’s a brief summation.
Last night I went to a new friend’s house where she was having a few people over before her two-month trip to Spain. I had a beer before I went, feeling deserving after a day of bullshit knocks from the Gods of Tiny Tamperings. While there I had two small glasses of wine. On the way back I stopped at Mak’s house to pick up my guitar, which I’d dropped off after my lesson, before I went home. I thought, Heck I feel good, another beer. During grad school days this would have been a light stroll through Tipsy Park, but today my head is a big red pulsing balloon. A few ibuprofens and cups of DeTox tea later my head’s beginning to begin to settle out with the Toxins, those rot-winged creatures of ghetto myth.
Toxins, apparently, my body no longer wishes to swim in. I came late to the liquors. I didn’t drink until I was almost 21. Then I left for graduate school where it didn’t take long before I came to feel self-conscious about the frequency with which I stopped by the liquor store. Finally I systematically visited a liquor store here, the one down the road, the one in the grocery store, breaking things up so I wasn’t stopping by the same one every day. I guess the self-consciousness is another psycho-bear to grapple with. Afternoons, after class, after commenting on my students’ writing, after visiting the libraries and record store, I’d make the liquor stop and at home begin. Then I would visit a bar, usually the same one down the street from my apartment, and often I’d enjoy a bedtime beer at home before sleeping.
I hadn’t expected this from me. My mom is a drinker and her drunken flares scared my young self into a self-righteous straight edge for a long while. Anyway, there it was. I familiarized myself with the multi-day hangover. I vomited whiskey from an otherwise empty stomach for the first time. I fell in drunken love severally. I wept chronically at chronic sublimity. One strung night over an Ouija board my eyes wobbled loosely in my noggin. I hallucinated. Generous friends from afar regularly received the rambling night fruits of my drunken head through e-mail.
I drank a lot then. I know a bulk of people whose drinking is darker and fatter, but still I could handle many drinks. Is it age, or is it bodily transformation? Lower tolerance? Or is it that out of oversight I made four-cheese Doritos and chocolate cake my dinner last night? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t seem to take much of anything anymore. In fact, since I moved to New Jersey a few years ago I’ve learned that marijuana causes me to pass flat out on impact. I had smoked only a few times ever anyway, but I’d never passed out. Now I also steer away from tequila and step lightly around whiskey. That’s after twice vomiting and passing out in the lawn of the house where I now coincidentally live, along with having vomited on the streets of both Philadelphia and New York City out the door of a car. That’s a brief summation.
Last night I went to a new friend’s house where she was having a few people over before her two-month trip to Spain. I had a beer before I went, feeling deserving after a day of bullshit knocks from the Gods of Tiny Tamperings. While there I had two small glasses of wine. On the way back I stopped at Mak’s house to pick up my guitar, which I’d dropped off after my lesson, before I went home. I thought, Heck I feel good, another beer. During grad school days this would have been a light stroll through Tipsy Park, but today my head is a big red pulsing balloon. A few ibuprofens and cups of DeTox tea later my head’s beginning to begin to settle out with the Toxins, those rot-winged creatures of ghetto myth.
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