Again you must leave all judgment aside. You must empty your mind so that we can be here alone. I can transfer my information and can be receptive and vice verse. If not especially vice versa.
Leaving that stereotype behind, we are found inside a different, more honest, dialogue. Something concise, clear and coherent. Something triple c but nothing regarded as something to eat. Brain food though if it were.
Park the car at the curb, on a hill, the habit of a parking brake, with nothing at stake. Everything is fragile. Different nights consider it an important feat to make the tires on the right side of the vehicle flush with the curb, enough to avoid any unnecessary fines or fees in the abstract instant something unlawful was found about the distance between myself and the curb. Some nights a paranoia about the the 12 inch rule between tire and curb. I worry though wondering the mutant who checks for such things or assumes that my body is propelled by some sort of devil feeling, an electricity through which writing occurs. This is me writing as an absurd condition of my ailment. I am not available to talk beyond such means. Needed, physically, to be alone in order to write and feel high though I feel as if a night is running between my fingers. "everyone is fucking crazy"
Right before she floats away
consider the source in disarray
we are convoluted
in a dissolved solution
our spirits mixed with chemicals
desire a fix, we are no better than animals
she floats out from your memory
all of those extra thoughts history
burn off the hard edges
to make way for soft ledge
the fall becomes easier
when you find you can't please her
she takes herself from you
and you'll never see the ground
fury capped off in a bottle
we kept our childhood in here
and it all breaks loose in a tangle
a story to tell
when no one listens
and retracting statements
we were not in hallucination
we were something different
figments of true imagination
embraced in heaven
to a nonexistent location
behind the time of the pyramids
and cave writings
Egyptian.
write off fish wire traps on door steps
the tricker in a world of treats
consider the stolen free candy
though it mattered only slightly
wished to simply have fun
all the stories I heard
impacted me and I wished to become a legendary prankster
on accident
I wished to sneak in without jumping in
I wished for someone to notice me rather than
myself noticing someone else
'the grass is always greener on the other pesticide'
lyrics, shooting holes in the sky
going color blind
describing the times
we are nothing without each other
but there will be numerous lovers
left alone in city
years away from pity
alone without other names
seeking explanation and insane
'trust me we will get out of this alive, now take my hand it's almost over'
---------
Acting a fool as the American dream in some strange and drunken rampage though I can remember clearly having written at least a segment of a story there earlier. Ther year prior some drug influenced delirium. Cannot remember if it was the night the jew did not allow us to enter his party because it was lame in the lame district and we had to run through the ran to gather up a bus despite our alcoholic sensibilities, the rain splattering over everything, running the make-up and wetting the cardboard, our costumes really ghetto in construction though sophisticated in idea. The devil. The American Dream.
constantly distracting myself from the point. from the full effect. all the flags down past half mast. consider the disability to write with coherent thoughts while remaining constant on musical epiphany. could drive for tobacco and more beer though I killed those from my budget. from my diet. when did you start drinking? have you fuck yourself up yet. steal from the liquor cabinets. exaggerated sadness. we are not alone. this is all a huge distraction. I wish to use the influence of intoxication to cause weird and fast creative writing. Sad and discrete among masses of junk. Something unique and fueled until death of self past the world of computers. listen to sad music. find out what kind of shit is written. by hand or through computer in different setting. without negative back trauma.
deeper reasons to write. sleep to shuffling music entirely. finding the flaws of man. easy riffs and constant involvement. it meant nothing originally.
take everything away. including sleep. fall into meditative state listening to everything possible until sleeping to cause a strange soundtrack. something ridiculous. dreams must be remembered and chronicled and turned into a green river killer green mountain scary movie soundtrack. I will recall my past halloweens after a workout in the morning.
