Wednesday, April 1, 2009

sometimes the cold gets in my bones so bad, that I just don't think i can go on...

laying down to sleep I turn my mind inwards - stare at the craks in the walls and let my head puddle into the matress. lint in my eyes. It tastes like a very old, very loved teddy bear that has been left out in the rain and then dried in the oven once too often. not explicitly damp, jsut kind of musty. Fungal. Reminiscent of long camping trips down Ballingup way searching for holy spores and strange golden growths.

Stop - Don't get caught up in the nostalgia. Don't be an armchair tripper. Don't sit there with your brandy and cigar blathering about the good old days...Its just that, well... I'm all for women's sufferage, mostly because I enjoy seeing women suffer. hah.

I’m a depressed, muttering, repressed suffering maniac
Screaming at anybody, anyplace.

Everyone I know is on drugs. And I hate it. it's selfish of me. partially because I feel like I want to be special - I want to have one up on everyone else, and that's my leverage. Drugs make you COOL, yeah? you dig? No. I hate it because everyone is so fucking weird and fucked up and I can't escape anything. There's nowhere to hide. The best I can do is curl up on the couch in an empty house, bake bread and watch battlestar galactica.

Send lawyers, gun and money. Get me out of this.

I'm losing faith. Losing touch. Losing days, losing memories.

The powder's power only lasts for an hour, so it winds up with me chasing my sanity around on a string, long white lines, one after the other up the septum - Searing, blistering moments of AWAKE AND READY, just enough time to get my work done before I have to go and hide in bed again.

Fuck your problems. I'm sick of hearing how shit your life is. I'm sick of having to pick up the pieces. I can't do this. I want to be there for you but you're sucking the life out of me. I can't taste the rain on my lips, but it's ok because I'm crying anyway. my cigarette has gone out and the day grows dim. eyes cloud - old dog's cataracts and a youngblood's pride.

Left foot, right foot
Keep it moving...

I spent the last eighteen years of my life learning my way - Finally I felt direction, for a few brief moments. Clarity was fleeting. I can still smell it in the air like gunsmoke.

Night cycles, sun rises, people work, die, fuck and sleep. Then again the next day.

my aim is to find the place between black and white. The hidden light between night and day. That twilight zone between the covers of reality, down an alleyway in time

Probability strikes random targets - We play dice with the universe, but for the losers... the powder and pills ain’t no way to heal, my friend.

People say that a lot about drug users. That we're burnouts. Junkies. Losers.

it's easy to win.

2 comments:

Grace said...

Pack your bags doctor.
Keep it moving.
Flux.
A meaning from all this mess.
Hold onto it, because you've got it, right there in your pocket.
The Streets once said, keep an eye on your mates, and if they don't feel right, play them this tape.
,,Just try'n stay positive.''

Pocket Mouse said...

Imaginary hug. ()
It'll pass.