When I joined him on the brink, he asked “would you like to know a secret?” I told him secrets were banned, but he said “that’s fine my dandelion!” I warned him not to drag me down, but he shattered it with a laugh that cried “if you can’t hanggg, you ain’t ganggg.” He leaned in closer and whispered like an angel who drank too much of the ocean,“they are all steady leaning on an angle because they don’t have any talent, but what gets them here is endurance.” Suddenly, the brink swallowed him whole. Progress was made. Exposure found a home. All that was left of him were his spoons. I picked them up and started to play, hoping he wouldn’t mind that I didn’t have much rhythm...tap, tap, tap, boom, tap, tap tap, boom, tap...
“And well I have emerged seemingly unscathed by institutionalization- only suffered by proximity and never had the pleasure of serving a full sentence. For now the idea remains; I survived! I aired that link-in-bio ass bitch until he was waiting so far down a line to buy tickets to the premiere of a good fix and a dose of mercy. This is the charm of a true American.” from Untitled
wishing I had a shotgun for my head and a knife for my belly
wondering if we’re born knowing that it’s bob marley on those t-shirts?
waiting to suck a dick for a free weighted blanket...
wanting to let you know that your social climbing truth negates your talent until you’re a standard millennial with compromised longevity
Today, I forgot what Henry feels like!!! And I pulled up promptly to the bando to tell him so.
I took my car and drove it into the far right part of my head where the looney tune plays in a minor key. At dinner, I was hurting all over from the humiliation of resorting to a social defense. I was a fool again to have brought it up because the past is already a sham before any attention is drawn to it from the obliged parties. I’d like to hear God’s advice for a veteran con-artist on her last bag of tricks. The third part of the first act of life is almost over, but I’m still wondering why I cling on to every bit of fiction, thinking it will lead to more love if I just tried harder. The blanket is made of thick wool, and I’m sweating inside the bed of mud. There is so much mud. I’m defeated by my brood of half-truths that are innocently following their mother straight into a busy intersection. Words get me in and out of trouble. Intention is the trickiest part. Wisdom is macgyvering oneself into a safe place without jeopardizing guts, while embracing shame. Someone tells me dying is a series of slow-burning chances at forgiveness towards yourself and your audience. And I’m alright with all of this as long as we keep romance before the clout.
He told me what would come next would be an honest account of a late bloomer in search of lost time. I wish I had a chance, but I was only a thief. Hoping I wasn’t was my saving grace. I recieved an inheritance of a thousand souls, but all I wanted was to be a famous poet. I learned to suffer gladly through the commerce of intimacy. And on my gravestone they’ll write: Here lies the plight of the artist who wanted to go deep sea diving. She came to realize that doggy paddling just made her exhausted so she made a choice. She died to Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat major. May she fall asleep now, live in spirit, and rest until eternity. Debauchery is timeless.
“Lord, I wish I could extend time like a rubber band. I don’t mean that really, I just mean I’d like for it to stretch out a little bit. Have you ever noticed the people who reach the point where they’ve been alive for too long? They were supposed to die, but they haven’t so they’re living to show us all the same flaws they had when they were younger. But, they don’t have the power to fight it off anymore. I really think that might happen to me. I’ve got no power. If I had any, people wouldn’t do it to me all the time. I don’t know, am I just asking for it? It. Virginia was telling me that somebody said I was and that she went through the same shit too. She said I had to be better than that, but what does she know? Simone has a man, but she still gets treated like a dog. I hate listening to her. Sylvia is a hoe. I don’t know why she’s around. Susan is the smartest, but I think she just likes little girls. Kathy doesn’t practice what she preaches because her daddy touched her. Who names their daughter Georgia, and not expect her to give top to an old, old man? I found that out in Pslams 40:40. What part of no don’t they understand? If you go to the eye doctor, would you want your eyes checked, or just scraped out? Two steps from Plan A is C. That’s still One Step closer to Plan B. He said he wasn’t a mind reader, well neither am I! He talks about closed mouths don’t get fed, but I say open mouths don’t get heard, so what now? I’m ashamed to be from nature sometimes. I’m from the earth and the soil, growing and spreading and you can’t expect me to understand something greater than myself. I think its better if I split up into tiny pieces of dust. Sprinkle me around until you can’t see me anymore because I don’t think I’m worth the effort of cleaning up. Amen.” from No
“They used to keep me in. Shut me up in a holed sock, stuffed down a Popeye’s elevator shaft. Have you smelled a fat rat’s asshole? They like it medium rare. Hot gouda and Polly-o, dripping through their eye sockets, yelling respect your elders! Respect your elders! They never got as far as the front door. I would watch them inside the washing machine, stuck in there like glue,tumbling backwards, but the only thing I could stretch was my left tit, but it ripped. Blood went everywhere cause it was tacked to the Man they called their God. I told Him, hey,if you’re in here with me, let me out! Let me out. I knew he had the key. He said that the key is in here and he pointed to his right nut sack and I knew he was about as bright as that flat screen TV, crisp and dull, Joe High-Quality. I came in there with Love, but I got suffocated. Trapped. Those dim-witted, flapjacks, going only inside and out. Their brains turned to mush if they ever went above a Level 8 on the spectrum of duty. And when real Duty came, they went to go take a shit! They transcended that one-way into an illusion of possibility, into the back alley short cut, into tomorrow, into this fucking washing machine without any soap. It’s just water. Water has no smell. A cesspool of what could’ve been. Cheater cheater Newport eaters, chugging that soapless water to wash it all down. And they never even got as far as the front door. Waiting and waiting, tumbling backwards. It was a quiet day when the Immaculate Fix came. And the sun was shining on the hot metal grill of my cage. There was a breeze. I knew the Man they called their God had pulled through. I thought they would turn around, maybe drag me back down with them. I would’ve let them because that would be their type of apology. But they were so blind they couldn’t hear me. And they can’t hear me now even when I’m telling it to them straight…that they really hurt my feelings.” from Glue
“The first time I fell and scraped my knees, Pops told me that it was good luck. He said there were diamonds buried in the concrete, and that I should feel blessed to have been kissed by them. I was so small, but those diamonds made me feel bigger. They taught me how to stop trembling by the gas light and to keep walking straight ahead into the blazing Sun. But no one ever told me that the Sun was just a Dead Star. All the saints and Street Angels would smile when I said I would die for the Cause. Their halos were cracked mirrors, and their faces were so Black that they were Blue. I kept going. I walked further and further away until I was a dollar a year like Bloomberg. I walked as far as rock bottom, where Sanity offered me a nice ball point pen, and I couldn’t wait to practice my cursive. So, I joined the Salvation Army, and our first point of attack was to save. On the 11th day in battle, we were bombed by a fleet of acid anguish and burning mediocrity. I heard Pops shouting, but I couldn’t make out His words. I wanted to reach out and grab them, but they dissolved into tiny particles of dope-covered diamonds- the same diamonds that were buried in the concrete beneath my boots. The diamonds were glistening and they were blinding me and some of them cut my fingers and there was blood and I still couldn’t see. Or hear. But I could think. And that was a start. As I lay there paralyzed from the impact, drunk on life support, I knew that Heart really did begin with the letter H. I was time deficient, turning pale from all the wealth I made off misdirection. I had walked so much that on my last day, I was only half an hour from Hell. And even now, I would die a trillion times over, to live like the hero I was meant to be.” from Great.