So the next time you accuse me of being complicated, remember my complicated list of the things that make me happy...
Happiness is perspective, buddy. This is all it takes ...
The sobering knock me on my ass stink of sulfur after I light a match for a cigarette�
Soaking in hot water, being held up by the ancient weight of the ceramic tub with clawed feet �
The analog hiss at the end of your mix tape when the music�s over, right before the tape player pops off�
Laying, limbs soldered together, too busy to notice the music has ended, arguing about who�s going to get up to put on something else, forgetting about it, then both simultaneously startled when a few minutes later the tape ends and we hear the "pop��
The bruised light of early morning seeping in through curtains after a long fight�
Goofed up pictures where all is perfect excepted your devil red eyes�
Running my tongue along the chip on the rim of my favorite coffee mug�
Driving under a bridge listening to AM radio fade out then in again, just like childhood�
Licking the Guinness foam off your lips after your first sip�
Watching the tachometer on the car shoot up as I downshift to pass a slower car, the loud whine ...
The feel of melting skin that follows that sick surge of adrenaline after I glance in the rearview mirror and see the policeman�s lights flashing, and he only wants to pass�
The weightless feeling of an elevator shifting between floors�
Finding the �sleeper� cigarette cowering and crushed in the corner of your soft pack when I thought I was out�
Wipers that catch time with the song on the radio, then quickly loses beat�
the scratchy sound of the needle hitting vinyl, right before the music starts...
The one loose spring on your bed that squeaks when you sit on the left corner in the morning to put on your shoes, trying to be quiet�
When every inch of the room stinks of sex�
Writing long hand on thick, heavy watermarked paper with a fine point pen � always black ink
The rigid feeling of a new toothbrush against soft gums�
The earthy smell of being buried and pinched in a pile of dead leaves�
The grimey sting of salt water when swimming in the ocean�
Important and hushed conversations that are only proper in the dark�
The two times lowered octave and throaty scratch of your voice when you wake up�
Driving with the heater all the way up and the windows down, snow flakes rushing in �
The hearty wood-like clatter of drum stick falling on concrete�
Cool sheets in an air conditioned room on a humid day�
Making up stories about the strangers I see every day on the train�
Writing left handed for no good reason�
The smell of man made progress when tar bubbles on hot city roads�
Laying in comfort hearing screeching arguments down below from an open window three floors up�
Sucking your callused fingers�
The musty, woody smell of the window sill when the rain comes unexpectedly pouring in�
The odd shapes rain drops make on window screens...
When I am right�