After days of anxiety ridden, unforgiving insomnia, Larry finally realizes he may have a problem. He makes an appointment with his analyst to determine why he is suddenly taking all these meaningless pain pills and his feeling of a need to lash onto something in his life, other than the ridiculous hours spent in coffee shops and book stores, scanning the people for an interesting conversation. The nights without sleep, randomly calling his ex girlfriends and breathing heavily over the receiver or hanging up on them when they say hello. His contemplation of changing religions and becoming a hari krishna, shaving his head and dancing in airports, looking like a sick nazi with a blindness, bathing problem. The situations are endless, his analyst believes he may have a brain tumor and asks him to make an appointment for a cat scan. He goes to the bar and shouts "Bottoms up!" to the bartender. "Would you like a drink?" the bartender asks. "But of course, and whats more i've brought culture!"

Short Film # 79. Kiekos Death

A smoldering cigarette butt balances loosely on the edge of the ash tray. Keiko stares expressionless at the table leg, still exhaling smoke from his last drag. The sky is cloudy and night fall has begun. Keiko picks up his cigarette butt, brings it close to his eyes and examines it's burn. Watching as it slowly makes its way down to the filter. "I will kill myself for her". He whispers. Still examining the cigarette butt, he slowly brings it to his wrist and extinguishes it against the veins. The smell of burning flesh and hair fills the air of the wet room, fills his lungs. Just then the child walks in. Confused, with a hint of anger in his brow, he asks, in an innocent voice, "Whats are you doing, kieko?". Kieko stares expressionless still. "Who are you?" he asks. "I am your best friend" the child responds. "But i've never seen you before in my life, how could you be my best friend?" Kieko asks. "I'm your only friend" the child responds. Kieko stands up and walks to the mirror. His hair hangs slightly over his right eye, he pulls it back with his ring finger. He stares into the mirror, examining the wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. Examines the hair growing on his face. He reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a razor and shave cream. Reaches around behind him and pulls the towel off of the towel hanger. Wraps it around his shoulders. He slowly covers his chin with the shave cream and examines the lines on his face. He takes the razor and slowly pulls it sideways down the right side of his face, cutting himself deeply. The blood mixes with the cream and drips into the sink. He continues to cut. "I don't want any friends." he says to the mirror. The child disappears. Kieko falls to the floor and lay there expressionless in a pool of blood. Fade to black. Roll Credits.

Best Observed Through Spectacles.

It was your typical disco. I say nothing and nothing is new. Film headlines of electric storms of violence, words falling, flash falling from photos. Strangers outside walk on secondhand love. I say "Let me show you all something". And direct their attention to the pinball lead streets of dog screaming terror through their silent eyes. Time for our show. We walk up proud to the heat and we both smoke a panama. Intersect the screen with young faces melted by color and psychedelic dreams. Oh, lovely lovey dovey new york woman dressed in faded blues and transparent dollar bills, green neon.
Music seems to whisper prison murmurs occasionally reminding me of our long road trip to las vegas, or shadows of san jose and obisbo where we fucked on the beach. We met rollins in redondo then heard his critique in los angeles. Maybe two or three half crazy "good nights" like a million acoustic qualities and someone else's naked body. "Do you love me?" she asked at the gas station. "It's swamp mud, LL. In the blood, the little things you used to do... I love colorful circuts and your sheets that hang from skeleton bones." I loved her sucked through pearly jelly, like tapioca. Substitute my books for the thrill of spurting sweet river sex, underwater nervous system pulse. Vacant lot surrounds our darling fashion flesh removed to only show our insides. Do you still wonder? I was the lonely boy with electric fingers, baby with a bottle. She's the throat of demonstrated explosions. We're the vagabond book of dreamers with cool heads, cool hands and naked money. Her charms vibrated through my black tucked in v-neck. She'll change the channel every time i feel blue, which is why i'm confused. This separate organism with sense sprawled all over her station wagon. Of course there were incidents, of course there were casualties declaring himself contemplating silence. Risking independence from the realization of everything i know to be the beating of my heart.
Separate from myself, she's watching me now, tell's Mr. Modern something i can't quite make out and she makes her way towards me. In the beginning she looked at me scanning the feelings. Deriving from, no doubt, his mineral origins. she says something like "Communication must become total and conscious before we can stop it." It reminds me of some prerecorded history rerecorded and played back for Mr. modern, he agrees and leans in for a hug. We exchange reasons why and plans for a road trip to any and all fucked up situations. Glorifying our stupid way of life.
I was transferred to paper again in the back, under my leather jacket as she went to the place to get liquor and junior mints. Attempting to seduce the planets orbiting the entrance like judges on a thankless panel. Success depended on a blockade of the planet that operated on impunity. Badged and bearded like a shit eating fly. She cuts the control lines and makes out with the goods, Food, drinks and polaroid photo of the chase. She has arrest orgasms. My job is total fear and fascination. The transitional gimmick that haunts ghosts and phantoms. This is primitive and certainly dissolved from lunatics controlled by slogans. In addition, this condition was forbidden by victims literally eaten alive by normalcy. I love her unseen caustic green, endearing, emaciated superstitious nativity. So special a fruit with such a taste of an island split by invisible jungles.
We bath in a shallow pool that came to our shins, ghostly tenants stood naked, watching our laughter become dirty. I put on my broken body like an overcoat, purposeful and silent. Her gaze warms my buttonless flesh. Eye beams exploded the insect electricals in the air and they fell in a shower of blue sparks. We tune into the sound, effects vibrating our sex, whine winding along the middle line of the highway.
She draped herself over my back. She was in fact tired after the street show. I take her upstairs, yawn, and crawled under the covers of luminous soft snuggled to her back.

Dizzy Gillespe

exploring the skies with sugarplum faries in my eyes.
thinking of her, the starlight, the city.
always in the in, always in the know.
now i collapse into my beer and wish she were here.
just goes to show i'm a torn heart sleeved hopeless.
romantics get the best of me. why can't i find her next to me.
shaw nuff plays and i belong there.
what is my mind, but a bitter babble in the sub-atomic matter of fact i can't even act right.
will we meet again and will she? if i spilled my guts and gave in to sin.
should i try to find her? should i wait? is she remembering me waiting for a moment of clarity?
she waits on tables. i fall in fables. flibberty jib. i'm not beat, i'm trying to live.
the starlight, huh? little italy?
a mental cruise to find me jailed and bruised all for the sake of my snake skin heart.
should i fall apart again tonight?
to choose would be like lover woman, where can you be?
moon above me, no one to love me.
my simple pleasures of my ordinary life, i no longer seek to bleed, to strife.
i'm stifled and shiver. and i drown in my self pity.
all for the skae of life in the shitty.
oh, but if i could i would, if i can i plan on brooming her feet off on top of that downtown night.
but i'm just not good enough. nobody really cares.
i'd rather have a memory than a dream.
but my heart says she fits in the seams.
i've always been brave enough against chance.
i'll ask her for a dance.
those fingers full of stories untold to these nightmare ears.
but now i see clear and long to intertwine them between mine.
the time is pressing. to my self depressing in my self proclaimed fartsy art.
i'm a closet clothless. open to the public, a bit inebriated, but still open.
truth be told i held my soul for too long, and now i'm sung songless.
baren foliage on a branch less bush. the emptiness between nucleus and membrain.
sub-atomic pain. i'm under the nuclear rain without hat or sugarcane.
but dizzy gillespe gets me. dizzy and bird too. so what else is new?

Usless Blues

useless, useless blues.
the chain sounds off against the metal pole.
the insects struggle out of the morning dew drenching.
still wet trials on the concrete.
my mind stops as i watch the spring evening disapper.
no interruptions and the thunder nulls.
the twin hawks hunt down, up for the rats still jumping.
hard hearted old mechanic, like the father farmer, hey jack.
this is the forest of diego.
i crack myself up. it's the double bladed axe.
orange trees and plums. grapefruit still tumbles.
the bushes move like ballerinas in the wind.
i long to dig my feet deep into the ocean sand.
on the shoreline of santa monica beach.
the spot where i sung my heart out at 3 a.m.
and the tired couple clapped at my sorrow.
i had my hair down. and despite the chill i was warmed by the light of god.
tranquil and determined mind.
i can memorize all my life, yet i choose to forget the most important things.
i blame it on the strings. but we both know i'm a lier.
thats the label you gave me, because i had a kink in my neck from always looking up. an you loved to paste those on all the different types of noodles in the pantry, and well, anyway whats better than looking up than to lye on your back.
us liers are lazy. dreamers are not the only ones.
but us fireman make pyromaniacs out of clouds. flames in the water. it's smoke reflecting on my scars from 1930. i tell you i was dirty.
silly folks with black tongues, speaking the bricka brack. la la!
boo boo!!
oh i see i'm a downtown primordial prince of pain.
pimp-like with my sunset over the shoulder, and cheap rooms.
he wakes up with nightmares and day stares him down. back down into downtown.
every city is same. her lips are like rose colored pillows. eyes search for the fingers equipped for digging into bread. flipping through bread and handing her the bread to buy more mens whistles. to bake more mens bread.
women used to stop walking forward at me when i'm crowned with a golden halo.
they know. they knew. i'm a whiskey romantic. all i can offer is the greatest lover, still young. when the angels cum. drooling happily like lucifer.
i'm not the beast who lives east of gommorah, i'm halo'd 'member?
i've never lost a dark haired woman to knife or force. or even a blonde for that matter. i'm more dead than you. don't worry. i'd be all wrapped up in you.
thats why they call it the blues.
thats why they call it the blues.

Honey Glazed Ham

i left my window open and now in the livlyness of night i quiver and shake.
everything alive around me but my own aching back.
should i howl at the moon? undernieth these ruins of skin.
nobody knows where i've been, i've got a young face.
i'll grow a beard and still get snickery sneers.
back to the bottle. markers and pens. broken paper and crumble pencils.
good thing i don't use a typewriter. my paperback is a token of appreciation to being broken.
and how could i afford the ink? i don't need to fill up, but rather float down.
with my halo'd crown. and drown in the cold bed. i can't even lift my blankets to warm up.
keys strokes awaken the whole house, and after almost 24 hours of off again on typing till dawn,
i've got to pick the muck from nieth my finger nails. the coagulated blood.
sure the only constant is change, but i've even managed to skrew that up. stuck in my own ever-staying the

same.
a hot shower will do me good. but i can't stop 5000, 6000, 7000 words or more not including so on and so

fourth.
with a small break to synthisize my want to stay in sync with the rest of the world.
i got to get to the girl. someone who'll kick my ass to sleep, and make me feel less than cheap. but who's

kisses speak.
and that all i know is what she never and vice versa.
i can tell by her eyes that we're gonna get along. she's cute. she'd cut. what do they think of me?
what kind of first impressions do i give off??
that of a sheltered droid going through the motions of being undergroud?
are my aliases obsoleate? do i return to the days of lighter girls and drunken binges in parking structures?
minus the parking structures and lighter girls? ahh but too soon see how it's now and how it's that much

closer to noon.
time for a nap
good-bye tree. good-bye flower. good-bye grass and little insects i may kill walking out of here. it was destiny.
don't you know who i am??
honey glased HAM.

mind over matter

Mind Over Matter. You never had to ask me when to come. you know i'd be there in a flash. some lonely parcel i bring up weak and wipe my mouth with the sleeve.

La Amenaza

She was entirely self-seeking and effective steaming up from mud streets of tijuana with a flat synthetic vulgar entirely electric like a cinematic sequence featuring the garden of delights and barrels of sex masturbation. Technical and convincing of imploring a young mans rotten whiffs of a progressive school. The evening blew of blue kerosene tanks and tape recorders luminous like falling flakes of sky. He had it situated in the corner and could still taste the anxiety crossed and charted so that memory tracks the absurd change. She gave a weak chirp and her assistant came from shadows of the shop with knife and leather. The whistle hung from her nipple piercing bounced quickly so that sound could be imagined and blossom like a tambourine membrane. The window watcher was accustomed to telepathic exchange but his voice was clear and forgiving. An extraordinary phenomenon of whistles from lips broken at birth till death lurks like poisonous cloud belts over the mechanical controls. She holds her pressure gauge skin tight against her suit of transparent delicacy. The heat here kills what you call lust and just when you thought, it was snatched from your cerebral fire like music from speakers to ears. She inspects his eyes closely, their eyelashes lash out of energy towards each other, the cigarette smoke slowly rises up her body, following each curve till past towers intersect the memory of it. The burning itch swells our tongues and lips and taste of caustic lagoons looms like railway vibrating feedback. The assistant led him to a cubicle lined with old newspaper clippings and the stench of flash bulbs and formaldehyde. He could hear the beating of his heart and the shifting of intestines as she brought in the electrodes and attached them to parts of penis and thigh. The water bottle test shook his nerves within himself drooling like a mastiff at young boy just his size.
He stood shaking under floodlight and tape recorder clicks.

Victoria

Victoria, laughed at him then. took back her hand and began walking down the hill towards her fathers farm. "i mean it as much as you mean all your fancy words and rubies and gold and opium." It dosen't sound particularly romantic. Something in cough mixture like eucalyptus. "Something in anything. Anyway, You should not be running off to retrieve my fallen star." it fell to the east, over there, and she laughed again. "Silly Shop-boy, is that all you can do to ensure we have the ingredients for rice pudding?" they are walking the last hundred yards now, to the fathers farmhouse, the windows burn with lamp light, yellow and orange.

my space log or pretty much what i wrote in OCTOBER

These Are Recent Posts From My Myspace Blog. Thought I'd Add Them Here For Your Reading Pleasure. Hope You Enjoy It. Please Feel Free To Comment On Anything, Your Feedback Is Wanted.

For My Possible Child(s)
Current mood: hat wearing

Be Aware Of The Facts! if i can't be tall or engaged or engaging a conversation with my better half of human, i'll settle down and reach for the dough. sending my tapering half empty apologies by way of will to the director who's got the most grammys. prone to the museum sickness and the laws of quantum wave function first before the immortal pills... i find the only fun thing about a coma is i go months on a single dream. sometimes awake i never dream. so i drop the coin in the head hole and try and help explain why i give up. why i run so far, so fast. cause the way you looked last night. knowing no man has memory so keenly in tact. i ask you to beware the facts. in which my contributions were magnificently insignificant. this love euphoria almost always turns into a power struggle of the addiction of energy. each others energy. you do count higher than i do, but i.. and...
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The scared-faced boy was all ameoba and pulled teeth after just one quick glance in her direction. a brief moment of eye contact and her rational wave went west to the water. like wet to the sand, my both feet sunk in the mud. was everyone too exploded to realize the glow in the room? the only shadow still to be standing at the end of your eclispe, HE promised you that one night after uttering to open sheers the end of his cope. it was even embroidered along the brim of his saddest of all fact. she carries her three hearts so close to the ground, dirty in the scream of whats to come. but she was born with unprecidented levels of control in her blood, so simple made it the fact the swing of her heart bag was so low. The worlds finest hard to find wing collection sits atop her closet space, gathering dust for a rainy day of reminising. he films the farside of sleep to give to her and she has the whole mass of it wrung between her breast corset. no thought of the frames, the careful captureing of rare species, the dark destined to possess the process of juicing her high blood sugar. nope, she doesen't even seal off the skull for living. so it is had that he was led to miss some million miles away, untill the truth sets them free. and so he sat thumbing through the bowels and flesh of a messy death, looking for a locket or amulet. only to find the reproduction button so famous in the 99%. the two 1%ers meet in space. he is honest in his armor. she is distracted by the scent of the death gathering dog.
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some girls...

some girls think they can and are. some think. i suppose to understand you'd have to live in their shoes. struggle for their breath of death. redhook esb and she thinks she can seduce me. i'm a bandleader. not only can she not, but i'm a veteran of foreign affairs and i've seen every social structure crumble into dust. i've seen the scene, lived it and i'm not easily seduced by methods of 208 year old dr. octo. brusies are right for my handstands defy all that is man. lock me up if you will. celebrate my departure by love wet wicked sex. i'll only be back worth more. once again defying the impossible. wink, wink. you'd only wish you have seen through me like you thought you knew me. tip of the tip of the iceberg my friend. of our elaborate plans, of everything that stands, no safty or surprise, i'll never look into your lies, again. the end. i can't! could you? well yeah knowing your one track mind, hell bent on being timeless. i'll tell you, i was never wrong. i saw it coming from the first time he knocked your door down. but a sneeky snake can't wait for bait, and i'm sorry for you, it was my fault. i was born on classic films and vintage morals. chrome and wax. i'm more of a cholo than you think i am. i'm just rock and roll. i'm pure soul. take it or fuck off. i know your reading this right now thinking, "who? me?" deliberate prose knows no actuality. but so far i refuse to make arbitrary abstract generalizations to satisfy a particular pink. who knows what you think. some girls do it for pleasure. some girls do it for pain. vaunted ida's long, long think roads. all retrospective passions passing by like the landscape's "indie" time trees beating a rythum i can't figure. almost techno in my head.... or the be bopest jazz ever known to deaf ears, and you can't hear. your all wraped up in your fancy farewell. my dear mate, my love. i'm going far far away. i know not where.... who shall i say i'm not? a happy genius of my household. telling truths as if i were psychic? i do not want to know the effect of expireience. the marvelous project for a sociologist, the seed of the menace. to hear the slaughtered cows cry for their skins at night, lady. let's elope from eath and tangle in heaven. i never said i was superior, but fuck, i can write all night, only, who's reading???? tell them i'm dying to sing with angels and all the addiction and life i've lived were in preparation for the big moment. i'm addicted to love. to human touch, to lips kiss, to you, my perfect partner in times when partners are paired. i must see the pope, broadcast my film on his chest, to say only, at best, that i'm a courtship heading for the bay. in the correct form, with letters and numbers: Sa7m0n 3gg5.
this is preliminary. you'll find the whole truth and nothing but tattooed in invisible, glow in the dark ink on my chest. done by the pope of the high solitude and veggie burgers. with the light sensitivity that even darkness is bright. i shine in his eyes... in his eyes i shine. jealousy is often mistaken for infatuation. i love you meat market and all of your slabs of mutilated heart. come over and we'll shoot the shit.
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Running through the forest.
Current mood: Woody Allen

take a bow, it's not your feelings, it's what makes us say wow! i'm definitely complicated. contemplating puppets who come off the string. sing for me miss jean. ring the bell, we're not stars yet, but i definitely need a light. i show off my burgundy hand print, all wet mouthed and cobwebbed out. yet another farsighted, nearhearted fart. repeating, "You were born with it, you were born with it..." the speeding sleagh day bobsled. take your bra where it's never been, and take it off. besides, who cares what my epitaph reads, it all stands to be translated. art in the beholders thighs all worked down to bone. i'm prone to finding fat caterpillers and baby grasshoppers banging on the wall and selling it to those who tell you wrong. all dancing to my little read book. whats to be explained as " Well... legend has it...". none of your race has ever been there before and i'm here for your poisoning. techniques passed on for thousands of sands on hundreds of shores, i just want to be your love. believe that some went mad the day you fell off the table. thier mid-sections swinging wide open to reveal the outsides were on the verge of collapse. and there is lots of this, how we're only collided debris from the big gangbang. how we're in denial. how we're all attemping to swaddle perfection and it's only circumstance that allows us to move about these parts. i assume you've gotten used to the act of dying inside. i only ask of you to cry with me.
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I Do It All For Her

It's no longer feasible, or likely with my gun in mouth blues. "thats SOOO attractive". yet i'm still aching to touch her in her insides, deep insides, so much so that i pour my heart into my own mouth and swallow 4-5 times a week. i'm weak. and all this i realize is something that i'll no longer forgive myself for. but i just gotta do it. deal. cope. just till i reach that moving goal. that one step is three for me bastard goal blues. you can't buy love, you can't hide from your own love. help me, my legs are on fire! i'm burned beyond all recognition. but guess who's coming to diner, me and my skin graphts. we're gonna sit down on your table. drip cream and ointment all over your food. we're gonna talk to you, with my in need of repair blues. we're gonna speak italian and dance the charlston all over your matching diner set. we're gonna buy you everything we cant afford at the moment. we're gonna spend a lifetime telling you the same thing about you that every man has, and your gonna like us, but you aint gonna need us. you know you, but you don't know i am whats left. speaking of people who've snapped, just imagine the twigs flying in the air as i yelled "timber" once my soil has rotted long enough beaneth me and i became uprooted. it did echo through the forrest. i've taught a class about the biology of a yobb from the insides. outside in. you should have seen the look on thier faces. as i dripped ointment and oozed color onto the podium. my skin graphts peeled off by gravity, in a pile around me as i gave my speech. thier jaws hung like pendulums. swung like suzy on a makeshift tire swing.
i do it for me. so she can see.... so fuck off is my strategy. with my black and grey rainbow and exposed electric wires. "taking a patient out of water". i blame her for her electricity. i'm tired of being so put off by my lack of synergy. i'm out of sincronicity with my peers. thats why i think whats yours is mine. "speak to me bones". i see. holy shit, for the first time i see, i can control it and i can stop dripping on girls i love. so please girl, come a little closer. i'm open to your questions.
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afterward, we ate pretzels

No matter how crazy he usually sounds, it makes sense to me... since i am the only one who understands, he often only talks to me. and since speech is what impels me to write i often only write what he says. since he's got no fingers. and since he's got no name, i call him. we sit together for hours tip taping on the clingy clangy keys. we've got hours to read. i love finding peoples personal remnants in library books. i'd work there just to flip through all the returned book pages. i found a note yesterday that i taped to my screen, it reads: "Where did you find me? " and on the flip side it reads: " BUENROSTRO 3/3" I fell in love with it. i'm almost compelled to locate the last person who had the book. could buenrostro be his/her name? ugh, i love the mystery in it! so perfect in it's randomosity.
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"they clip you in your private parts to weaken all your public arts"
i really like that quote. for some strange reason.
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prose 97 million

May this filter through my flattened, black lungs and recycle itself into heaven while i sleep. May i never live a fleeting moment with her again, may she know the most beautiful sound i have ever heard, was her name sung by many birds. May i calmly and cooly pull this trigger and part my heart from my head.

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Mindfullness worry, mindless conception. i tremble to the bone and choke. You are to sabotage, infiltrate and cut off the exhibition. she is not for sale. wholesale witchs are on the third floor, your at the front door. I hear music, a long way from the strictly heavy mental metal. orange and amber embers patronising the ones he has emerged from. STOP IT! STOP! TURN OFF THE MUSIC! OFF IT! i want to hear the notes i've etched on the back of the seat i sat behind on the train. no don't even think about it doll. i could have changed seats. don't think about it, don't worry. "momma's only looking for her hand in the snow...."
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i don't play any gig's unless it's on the up an' up. going to pieces. going to peacefullness. solitary gigs, i've got expierence. wanna see my resume? my time cards? my badge? my torn outfit? my stamped hand? my wrist? i've got scars over scars, it's more complicated than that. a great burst of raw horsepower, does that tell you whats going on? going to peacefullness. going to pieces. i only play gigs if they're on the up an' up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can't protect him from himself. stop trying.
when she walked into the room, everything stopped.
those who will do anything, picked up and split.
he stood there waiting for her to walk toward him.
his protector says " Beat It."
she sadly looks at the tattoo and says he's ruined his purity.
"beat it, i tells ya" the protector repeats.
she walks to him, towards the bar.
he lifts up his glass, the rim covers his eyes.
"i've got something to tell you, and then i'm off" she says.
"spill it chick" he replys.
" to this day, i don't know what it was that came over me. like a fever, or a spell of some kind. but i couldna get you offa my mind... i woke up this morning, and i had a feeling you'd be here, so i came, to tell you..." she spills.
he looks puzzeled and squeezes out a long burp. "Listen babe, whatevers it is, i'm not intrestud, now split doll beforz yaz gets hurt. you've said enough, now go home!"
she looks out the window ajacent to the bar.
"The thrill is gone."
The bold headlines on the papers the next day read : "REDHEAD DEAD!"
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In a room with winter walls, he carefully examines the inner nervous system. with instrument in hand, pokes and prods. in a room with mixed metal and plastic cubes, she slowly examines the conversation. comparing and disecting. they met in an elevator, she asks him which floor he will be getting off. he says 17. she presses the button. they hold hands and watch the sky come.
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i was not thinking at the time of this blog.
Current mood: uncomfortable

I was thinking, if she'd only put it to me straight, i'd maybe evolve into a lesser known self. i asked a match from a man walking down my way, he said to me " the birds are so noisy in this part of town, how can you stand it? my train is late." We stand in silence, examining our shadows, trying to block out the birds. time passes so slowly when your standing, examining your own shadow. waiting for it's subtle movement. waiting for it to jump, twitch, walk away, or explode into tiny shadow fragments of soul and stardust.
All of my grandparents are gone.
Words are often read backwards, it's so simple. The negative space between and often around, i can't help noticing my own lunacy. what does that mean when you notice, you, yourself are maybe crazy. Infantile. Obscure. Obsolete. Rise and Shine! wake up ready for new work and a handy excuse to skip it. ol' Hank Williams will save me today. "There's No Dreams But Bad Ones". Years gone and now i still long for her to be a we. It's like the man with the golden arm, and his dame who won't give up on him. she feeds him, locks him up, kicks the habit. I can't kick whats not physically there. or here depending on where. kindly rocked to sleep by folks who know of the musicians misery. I was thinking, if you could measure the speed at which i mourn, the velocity of lost faces, the gravity of my fall to superstardom, would i break the barrier? would i become sonic?
i was thinking of good ol' rosa, the marine. rumors said she died of a contagious poison. crawled to her plate, puked it out and passed on like a fresh breeze on a mountain top. let's see, is this real?? is it? this life that i'm living? i have no logo or living emblem. but i'd imagine it a fungi type organisum. it sorta spreads through all the rotten parts till the whole thing is consumed. i'm constantly being consumed. but wait! i'm not a product. not even of society. i can't blame society. it's too simple. i can't blame my parents. i can't blame genetics. i can only blame myself. my own heart. my own mind. my own rhythmic thump thumpering of my own diseased blood. if you were small enough to hear it, it'd sound like blues. the most low down, deep down, heart felt aquatic gospel ever heard by tiny ears. i'll die by 29. of a broken heart. and no, babe, it's not your fault. not you. not no woman. it was my own tragic suffering of this mental disorder. this creative complex. this flat-picking, strumming along gallop, backed up by the low down, rooten tooten, skeletons in the attic. no, don't feel that way. rejoice! celebrate the love we had. the love that never died. not within you. not within I. celebrate baby. CELEBRATE! and one day we'll eat the walls off this tin toy box and make our way to the corner store to buy some hard liquor and bag of sunflower seeds. yeah, you can get the bar-b-que flavor, i won't mind. i've grown to like it. It'll never beat those pistachios we got in tijuana, but fuck it. we're infinite now. we're en route. like a bus riding fool. packed with bags packed, no end of the road, just wind and a toad to lick upon. me and my puzzled teacher. we're infinite. wish us well. i've an eden of unspilt seeds. sure i've got my glasses on, but let me take them off and we'll have no more answers.
i was thinking of her red silk tounge, lovely and soft on my parts of skin. in her magic circle and held in my thoguhts. closely held. to hold and to be. that is the answer. that is the answer to not only your shakesperian conquest, but also the the question of love. i can only thank her once, in hopes she understands.

pardon me whilst i step off this planet for just one moment.

i was thinking about a way to write all my sins. i was thinking of getting my memoirs ready. that ought to do the trick. an interesting read for those interested. i'd, i dunno, i was thinking of giving it a title like: I Wasen't Thinking.