Saturday, March 28, 2009
i dream so poorly these days, i guess a man ain't worth more than what he dreams about. somebody told me that, i think he was my daddy. he thought of himself more as mom's boyfriend. mom's boyfriend had dreams, boy did he! the kind that brought fire to a room. he would start out with an all out assault on everybody, electric muscles holding 2 pandas by the neck. heck, he wouldn't have it any other way. shoot, even movie stars would show up, in his dreams i mean.wow, he always wanted to get the chance to tell one of the movie stars that they were in his dreams, that they were apart of his world now, we all are! i remember the energy when he told what he had to tell, he would have that unnatural glow to his eyes. pacing, as we were whimsyed with onslaught into this man's twisted nightmare gone wild. purple museums inhabited by a centipede with a silver tongue. one time he even dreamt of a bag of death!
Friday, March 27, 2009
at the truck stop bathroom hall hell way bunch o' fuck: long hall way, flickering overhead lite beams of neon. in it for the long haul, but whats the overhead, spending wise? fuck me if i know. im a walking debt. dead.i can't piss even though prostate says yes. the soap hear is brown and greasy, so i flushed it. the man in the last stall is yelling "i'd fuck Micheal J. Fox with parkinsons, if you get me out of this lord. shit, i'd air fuck craig t. nelson!". he's punching the wall. i pause.i think,"bastards stay clear of me, and shovel your shit backwards and away, they are infidels and purveyers of a fuck of a life, weasels!i stopped caring long ago, stopped carrying, after they gave 5 years.". i leave and theres stacks of boxes, leaving less than 3 feet to enter and exit the bath room. but it ain't bathroom. me take a bath in there? what!? in fuckin piss in the cracks in the floor. i knocked over the tiniest cardboard box, tiny but bigger than my fist, bigger than my dick! the box is full of pages, a big stack! all from a kid's playbook, mazes and puzzles, all done with crayon. already finished. i kick the box at a mop.fuck!the electric lites are still flickering, and loud too. buzzin like bug zappers, and they are kinda green.my pants are ridin low so i bet they got piss all over the bottoms. i cant do anything anymore without gettin piss on me.i always wanted to get one of those vanity plates, one that says "2day is bad" or "not2b fckd w/".i think my brain is bleedin, cause all i see is red, and faces look wild! they make a tampon big enuff to absorb all that pussy blood in my head?do they make a tampon small enuff for my heart?
Monday, March 23, 2009
whazzit, wizards and chemicals? the name of that game he loved as a child, casting spells on a world he had grown disillusioned with at such an early age? elves encased in magik made more sense to his fragile mind than why we had to move. but we had to move! after the divorce, that neighbor man just wasn't right! our son couldn't grasp such gravity and magnitude, best let him worry of his demons and dinosaurs. what the hell is that game called, honey? i don't know anything anymore.
the ambiance, unbeknownst to the rest of us, began to stagnate in mid air, impregnate the lukewarm breeze with an energy beyond the day morning had set before us. ignited by the wreckage and cinder, the flesh and the ash, the moaning muffled by metal and glass hit my ears like a ceremonial chant. when did the ambulance eat the limousine? a purse split open, spilling out receipt papers and morning after pills, like the remanence of a parade, confetti for the violence crawling through my mind.