What do they pay you to fuck that bear?

I thought i would know better....

Walking thru the streets, summer wind and sunshine, clown dicks, what the fuck is the reason for all these messed up people. The black man circles in a wheel chair, leg less on at least the left side, his sun glasses hide his eyes, his rotations.... lets  float in space, collecting the data... move left as the currents allow.

What is left to say? I suppose nothing. These pages have moved me through and beyond the end of the destructive phase, and in to this … what ever the hell this is, The Tin Man still has no heart. Well what did you expect? This real life after all. No last minute phone calls from the Govenor; no make up kisses in the rain.

But, in the end, its for the best. What was a good time was not romantic, or real, it was just a good time, and remember everything has a expiry date. Eventually its closing time, the ugly lights have come on, the party is over. Bummer. The leaving alone, well that’s hard on the ego, it hurts the heart, and if you’re smart you learn from it, cherish it, and move on.

I look around the room now, its empty, everyone is long gone, we had fun, we were good times, Gods mercy on you, take care.

Goodbye

Look at the track count I see since your gone, by the cars, played 38 times. A vague remembrances now of this horrible loop. Was it really that bad? I think back now, and drift thru it now, like walking the scene of a riot, I can hear that dreadful song, glasses everywhere, emptied cans, and bottles, boxes of sleeping pills, and the concoction in the ginger ale bottle, it looked like and smelt like like a 5th of whiskey, but at the bottom the appeared to be about 20 sleeping gel caps devolving, What the hell was that awful shit intended for. Perhaps a Jones Town of one.

I often been struck by paranoia that the the door will burst in and my hall will fill with 1000 angry enemies blood thirsty and just hate crazed enough to rip me limb from limb. However i always remind myself that i dont know that many people, and of the people i know, and im not hated by all, or at least not hated so much that they would storm my apartment in the dead of a monday afternoon. But this weird scene was too much deal with. I have always been my greatest foe. However this looked like a fight to the death, to the soundtrack of a shitty 80s skinny tie music.

Did i expect to trick myself in to consuming this hideous drink. Hmmm, further investiagation was needed, but i couldnt remember much, the fridge contained only empty pizza boxes, however i was too afraid to drink or eat anything, what other booby traps, had i laid out for myself? One can only imagine... What was this all about, this crazed hatred, oh yeah i remember now.

I had a good chuckle as I dumped the bottles down the sink.

Left to my own thoughts I am poor in my concentration. The shadows of memories lead into thoughts, words, movements, and these dreams come alive before my eyes. The formations, solidify, drift in the ether, and evaporate when touched. Simple reality melts the castles of the dream kingdom. It was either a simple flash, a synaptic misfire, or bad batch of ones and zeros. The information can not be trusted. The data is corrupted.

02-black_francis-garbage_heap

Black Francis

I need to take a day off... These pills are making me anxious and nauseous. I need a day off from this, from you, from her, from him... from life... my mouth tastes metalic, i cant eat, i need a shower... but im afaraid ill miss sometime, its why i dont sleep. what if something happens,

ok man, pull it together, suck in that gut, shoulders back... put on that frowning mask you like to wear, its scares children, and makes senior citizens shit their pants... thats a good look for you, and stop being such a whiney fucker... no one wants to read this crap.

so what you can hardly breath, and your heart feels like its about to launch out of your chest like a cannon ball. Aim it at the shitty little skater kids that is bumming smokes, and fire, full force, right down his idiotic little mouth, cram it into his throat, make him choke on it.  fucking little insolent bastard.

now pick you stinking flithy carcass up off the ground, and get it hosed off... go out eat some sushi... and then drive the chop stick up your nose and stir... you pathetic piece of shit... I fucking LOATH you, 24/7 pal, 24 fucking 7.
 

Walking, making head way on the road. Spring is here again. Leave your jacket at home. The world passes by as each foot is laid down in front of the next, a slow progress, walking against the current. The crowd pushes down... the noise and the movement, these unknown faces... a slow push and through. Head down, cigarette smoke stack... fire brews behind the eyes. There is nothing to these twisted visions... smash thru the plates of reality, these simple dimensional structures, feel the heat of the entire universe condensed inside your heart, hold the stars together, close your eyes... release.

The guide to desperation, love and loneliness... is a very thin guide indeed, to be honest there are no pages to it at all, there is a picture, but its far to grainy to make out. Black and white, sides ways, its hard to really tell what it is, maybe an apple pie, maybe, i dont know im not sure.

Breakfast time... a can of pepsi, grapefruit, and the radio on independent rock radio. 4am. All 90s alternative rock... Classic rock for aging hipsters. It plays softly over head phones. I think I am the only one on my building that is awake for the sake of not sleeping. I am a self righting machine. I have somehow twisted myself back up right, and now im back in my old sleep patterns. Asleep by 10, and up before 4. I work myself up sometimes, and I spin and spin, topple left, topple right, I never stop spinning and eventually I find my center. But it’s the spinning and flying around out of control, that smashing blind fury, well it leaves a mess. Some of the pieces will fit together again, but others are smashed all to hell. Sometimes things cant be repaired. Sometimes the break goes down to the core, and it remains eternally broken.

I Listen to the radio, funny how many of these song were turned into new car ads, or the back ground music for travel agency commercials. Cherub Rock. Smashing Pumpkins comes on the radio… I turn it up as loud as these little speakers can take; it’s nearly time for a smoke, and gaze at the passing cars, people running to catch their buses. Regardless of what we do in the privacy of our own lives, the world still spins, people still live, they still hurt, they still love, they are late for work, they are early, but sometimes they are right on time.

Estragon:Let’s hang ourselves immediately!
Vladimir:From a bough? (They go towards the tree.)I wouldn’t trust it.
Estragon:We can always try.
Vladimir:Go ahead.
Estragon:After you.
Vladimir:No, you first.
Estragon:Why me?
—samuel beckett, Waiting for Godot ...

My head feels like a garbage scow on fire and adrift in the ocean, crewless, clueless, burning and floating off in a blind search to find the edge of the world.

....

say something,