A nod and bow:

Nose is always running, a desperate fever in my eyes. Headaches in the morning, restless sleep. Depravity, simple violence seems simply possible. Pocketbooks all around, who will claim them? It's survival of the fittest, to misuse a term, and I'm feeling quite fit in my desperation. I'll take it all. I'll put it in my mouth, I'll devour the world.

"Put your hands up for Detroit, our lovely city..."

I miss the endless appetite I enjoyed back home.

durn

well i'm gon' get us a pickup truck
put a puppy dawg in the back
we'll live real far away from the law
where we won't catch no flak
live our laaves real simple
but still reed that philosophaay
so come on, baby, how's about it?
won't you marry may?

Sports, meat and marriage:

Go team go.
Go baby go.
Some things are worth holding onto
and some things don't matter.

Pain, Pleasure and Disunity

All of our lives have changed. Am I surprised? Of course not, but it's taken in stride with that human sort of amazement that never ceases to amaze me. Soon I'll be gone, but the memories will stay. A best friend reduced only to a memory, a caress transformed to an itch... it's heart-breaking when things shift so in scenarios like this.
Nothing is sacred, and love changes too. It rises, fades, returns, then leaves again, but the friendship that exists throughout the entire experience never falters for a moment in my mind. Friendship is more inviolate than anything else for this human. Turns out I'm sentimental in that way, although it's never really brought me much more than disappointment most of the time. How disappointing people can be.
But hey--- pain can be just as stimulating as pleasure (love typically being a mixture of the two), so it's probably best just to have some fun with what I've got.
One day soon I'll be baptized again on a mountain top, but only after I build this bonfire in my backyard.
Life begins anew, I'm scared and excited.

Dope

I watch him write. Every day I wake up the same way, and I head over to the house to stir up these stagnant waters. Ken writes while Patty watches television upstairs. Billy comes by sometimes, his toes are black and falling off. Sarah talks to me about the day when we'll go drink at the bar. We both know it will never happen. The house is a mix of genius, aged intuition and repetition. Amongst visionaries I hold communion.




Stagnant waters require a mixer.

And fantasy is all I know. Absolutes are inescapable for this romantic.
The reality that my friends operate within isn't quite interesting enough for me. My instructor asks me to post something interesting on her school 'discussion board', and I'm frozen. My truths are lies... could I lie to people I don't even know?
I went out with a married woman.
Her husband is a kind man,
and my heart is shaken.

My love
is a glove.
It fits only my hand.

Who wishes sacrifices.
Who sacrifices loses.
Who wins what he loses?
Who wins? Who loses?

Song of Arms

The narrow slits part and I look outside.
Black children scream,
hearts explode,
cars speed and crash into trees...
And now I am the Devil,
raising my hands to the sky,
parting the asphalt,
crossing the lines,
tearing everything apart.
My wishing is one over another,
so I aim towards the moon.
My sores never go away because I touch them too often,
so I cut them out.

And now you no longer know my name.