August 5, 2015
a monster enters my cell
and I recognize myself from photographs strewn across the internet and placed among my parents things.
the black notebooks sit unused in pockets of jean jackets with Mont Blanc pens attached.
stop world consciousness existed before the medications and stability ruined the mirror image of perplexion.
an ant crawls joyfully on the lattice work of wrought iron patio furniture careful not to upset the balance.
and the dead birds come in droves.
parallels of superable considerations and a fly crawls across the rim of a coffee cup, awake and staggeringly beautiful.
they pray from both ends.
journaling thoughts later for storage into a vat of nothingness and I toughen up.
bleeding hearts are broken by mean looks and stern words spoken abruptly.
I kick the dirt under my walking boots and wonder how many creatures I’ve killed in similar fashion.
fresh page unshaven and unwritten, strands of a broken spine stumble all pencils in the margin.
sado-masochist with aim only for his own conditions tries coke for the first time. gets bitten.
shameful secret is out and we cannot control individual reactions to fake legs and prosthetic fingers.
a hallowed shell – a spent cartridge is still illegal in the right company.
January 1, 2013
another new year – 2013
life yer life – love yer wife
I wonder if I will ever stop wanting to drink, smoke, take drugs.
I wonder if I will ever want to stop drinking coffee, writing, masturbating, playing with Legos, loving legal voyeurism, among various other bad or dangerous things.
I don’t wonder these things too much because if I allow myself to live in the future I can see that the day will pass when these are not options but memories that I will continue to scribble about.
I look forward to being a dirty old man.
I look backward at being a dirty young man.
Right now is the middle. between two dirty states of being.
my thoughts are often unwilled intrusions, and I don’t act on most of them.
which is good because when I obsess, I obsess with the best of them.
this is nothing new and right now I sit in a coffee shop on my laptop like some asshole with a “for here” mug half filled with black coffee. The music is mostly good and right now plays something I’m not immediately familiar with but it sounds like seventies Cat Stevens as sung by Jack Johnson while drinking. But that ends and plays something else and this I don’t care for.
I wait for the next song and step into the frigid outside to imbibe in a long nurtured vice.
I make no resolutions, live life like yesterday but today and tomorrow.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 