Technical proficiency, scientific fact merged with eavesdrop and alcoholic dysfunction, falling hopeless into bottles and pulling out delirium tremens from the dark past, shaking in beach side huts, who froze in the night when the calf on the hill made soft noises in the grass, salt in the hair, but a hidden cove with huge crashing waves, an unnerving quality of ancient swamped wreckage. Am I losing grip with reality? All the questions, there is a blame and a look of discontent. All the ignorant political garbage, things are going to good directions at the rate of marijuana sales and distribution, problems in the world solved with stoney intentions, colorful market and hunched back and all of those television screens and conversations of foiled telephone plans, in a bad mood for days without cell phone, sounds like someone is on their god damn period to me, but hey I'm that asshole in mind because of the huge ruse it all seems to be, I can cooperate and be a shadow to this beast of a shit covered pop culture. (Later will look back at such negativity and frown at past self. Seems to be holding grudge but we are not the same. I am a freak of nature. She is a product of our pop culture. We clash and deny it.)
Votings to the booths, line up like cattle with shifting eyes and locked-down opinions, afraid to speak up for racial differences that the media will joyfully exploit later that evening, sending convoluted Tuesday night football scores with people on scene to analyze the game plan and what the numbers mean, basically mathematical geniuses, they could easily guest star on a politic campaign. john madden narrating the election or a debate with which the candidates crush each other under the weight of an upset or a dredged up past that never meant anything when it was present. We have all done real things and the honesty and integrity of the man is astonishing, a best-selling book prior to the busiest man in the world. Assassination attempts and threats to the next few months. A huge sigh of relief that all efforts proved fruitful, southern sobs, getting the red white and blues, complain or celebrate in the exact same sense as a rivalry football game. Something big and broadcasted and hyped. A superbowl once every four years. The best of those four years (either the richest or the most marketable) gets a ring on each finger for the success.
Messages in the sand blow away in the wind
harmonies and secrets kept
all of everything collapse
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talking to myself, crazy inside. always. feeling like reading rather than writing. filling the cup more than pouring it out. tomorrow is a day for laundry and dreaming about fucking and also writing.
