Wither goes thou, 5 years ago, seems like only, 4 years ago

"I get so tired of this wind that blows"
-Matt Campbell

Got up and dressed up in clothes picked off the floor at the crack of nine safely untouched by a restful sleep
and went out & got laid
lack energy or elasticity

When it's this hot and muggy at eight-thirty, I'm wondering what it's going to be like in the afternoon
the wind blowing stench off the mosquito slough longside the road

People don't like to be reminded they are angry, that they are going to die.
Stop caring about me and it wouldn't hurt so bad.
Stop caring about anything, he said, not really meaning it when his mother looked him in the eye.
It's too easy to care about a panoply of personal things. The tiny flowers in the lawn on the dark side of the house where I grew up. The living room where my songs were born. The cracks in the sidewalk where I bounced my basketball
and the tree where my sister and I waited all afternoon for sunset and a call to dinner that we would ignore, the smell of grilling meet through the apple trees. My mother washing socks.
My friend Dan likes to stand next to Asian girls and have his picture taken. Because he's short. He met this one chubby girl from Florida who I talk to sometimes online:

dMskdMn: The ugly duckling stayed ugly for his whole life
AmiiTran: its okay to take your meds there Nietzsche
dMskdMn: It's okay not to take your meds.
AmiiTran: Luckily there were many other ugly ducklings in the bay and they all became friends and played D&D together.
dMskdMn:I like what you did there.

AmiiTran: My goal is my starting place
dMskdMn: There is no subtlety in popular culture anymore. Where are the double entrendres of yesteryear? What holds us all together?
AmiiTran: I am mostly held together by coffee and student loans.
dMskdMn: Coke and sympathy.
AmiiTran: Coke?
dMskdMn: Just for the taste of it

 

AmiiTran: it likely has to do with a certain "spiritual hunger" in America (perhaps due to an absence of mystical and ecstatic dimension in general American spirituality).



Beneath the floor in our cabin in the hills we buried our cat Scruffy. Nominally to keep her away from the coyotes but now I think it was more.

During our walk today we stopped talking for a good ten minutes and your eyes were lowered, I watched you. We came to a large open area with a view of the water and I said that it'd be great if we could do this more often but you said nothing.

(caesura 8)

When did I stop starting and start stopping? Where do I start?
Like the cat, she was, not dead, but a pure soul.
Like lightning.
God it's bright, and it hurts and I wish it wasn't associated with Ben Franklin.

dMskdMn: Pure soul.
AmiiTran: Hello.
dMskdMn: Are you hungry?
dMskdMn:Let's have a meal of words
AmiiTran: First, a salad, then ____
dMskdMn:and then dessert.
AmiiTran: no dessert for me please. Thank you.

Pure soul.
Hoo! It's bright.
Mind if I step back into the darkness and let the tan denvelope like film, not a film which is residue, say polaroid
briefly flashed and lasting.
I am The Masked Man.
Where do I start?


When do I stop?
Then die and get buried
in a coffin in the grave,
then the flies will come to ransack drink and feast up on my ____, then ____ ,
then the worms. And the worms are the worst. They will orgy on you til ragged and you will be part of the populous dirt.

People don't like to be reminded they are angry, that they are going to die.
Tomorrow I am funky llama outta here.
It's time.