Secret genius at the secret beach. Throwing knife into the sand or an invisible tree trunk. Spending the time to search through the sand on hands and knees. Scraping skin off knees. No time to write now, right now, I must be going.
****
There is something to be said about... Sleepless nights in airplanes. Catching the red eye, pink eye, pillow slip, careening down the stairs like slanted bumper cars. Filling ears with fuel at a jukebox gas pump. A pare coin and a song. In the jungle. Resin on the blade of an old knife. Blades can be cleaned and sharpened and must be otherwise they are without purpose aside from protection? intimidation? Hey, cool thing to have.
Remove the labels and find yourself alone with a bottle and coke. Evidence of dirty thoughts and prideful wishes. Mentioning the revealing tan lines. Lines of back, black and white, with sunglasses and orange skin, like the fruit, the intermediate shade between red and yellow, ketchup and mustard, bastard of science, there is no genetic code for despondency, and we are all to blame for our troubled earth.
Warmth from rum does not carry through an entire night. Like Bukowski. When something bad happens, drink to forget. When something good happens, drink to celebrate. Or if there is nothing happening, drink to make something happen.
* Very Carefully Look Over Your Shoulder *
Getting what you deserve in tandem with other whims.
Polish off that porterhouse steak. Lick the knife clean.
Cutting tongue.
Opening pathways with hands of steel. Trapdoor under the shag carpet. Falling into a foam pit harmlessly bounce against the walls, constricting straight jacket, walls of yellow dripping candle wax, lighting newspaper posters onto fire. One day bought a New York Times and thumb tacked all of the pages onto the walls. Realized I didn't have the whole story. Bought another copy of the same day and tacked them together like a puzzle. A constant storyboard storyline, although the danger of flame when near. Begin circling words and stringing together ideas with yard and push pins. Finding a trend and any anomaly stands out like stolen diamonds. People already think I am crazy. What until they see my schizophrenic self create narratives out of old newspaper and rant about conspiracy. It is all coming down against my skull like primeval rocks or stone tools.
****
2:04 "This sounds like the type of music you listen to when you are depressed and on drugs." Exactly. What you would know? First hand. Worst hand.
Growing red in the spotted sunlight. (Know that I've got you in my blood stream).
Catching up with blissful dreams. Blue key ring.
Purple clouds, darker through certain angles. Depending on thickness and size of lens.
Locality. In my periphery. Using the big, contained, words. Because I am studying words.
Did a line of coke and talked about how depressing the northwestern rain was,
talking about baseball, the benefits of Arizona weather, the late nights on the road, forgetting about loss. They did the coke, and went on a winning streak, not I, not I. Never I. The new study drug perhaps? Something pharmaceutical and in high government value. Lessen this weight on my shoulders. Baring your chest to the tropical sky rise.
Move/stay. Tanning in a tanning bed at a paradise. The coolest campus, naturally. Would have said this even without the hospitality? (One by one, the colors drip from the sun). New beginnings with old friends. Bigger, weed smoking, and no time for nostalgia. Sitting, reflecting, talking and discussing things, telling jokes, tired, no pressure in atmosphere. A general conclusion at the onset of sleep. Building up projects and knocking them down. The story has holes in it. The black widows in the corners or rooms. Dropping out of the shoes you just took off. It's tiny menace of venom, absolute certainty, that you will not know what happened as paralysis takes over any functional feeling. Lost past brain activity. Head smashed on fire hydrant. A decapitation. Something rhythmic in the way those words must have sounded to his loved ones. Or rather the ones who loved him. But if you wear a helmet, transferring over from one form of living to a form of nonliving. In a blink and without a proper explanation. We get cut short! My god. I want to say so much to so many but I must get over any silly insecurity. Spread a message. The importance of the individual. Write for publications? How cool to land a writing job in Los Angeles.
WRITING JOB IN LOS ANGELES
editor. columnist. blogger. writing for publications. stories every now and then. (gram. what does gram do in Belize?)
