she’s here again vice grip on my chest black night horror demon waif starvation of my thoughts clawing on my floors thorns grow out of my eyes flames of peril dancing on all with illusions of lucid hell all the bottles in the world beg me to rescue them stuff my corpse with SOS written on sulfur stones of tortured paths throw me in the lake of fire fingers running on the walls 2 in the morning feeling lost the saints all laugh at my position i run outside the neighbor calls for me to come back and lock my door i grind my teeth and rockaby in hopes that this episode will soon become another reason to get high on useless capsules i’m prescribed by the drones of science
the breath from my heart
only nature knows why Earth
has swallowed us whole into a fog
of tormented yellow grief that lingers there as a dying waxless flame
it has been there since David’s death truth mercifully laid out
just and only human not chosen by anyone
born of lust that’s it nothing more than that
you’re lying to yourself aren’t you tired
no ornament jewel pedigree or endorsement can change that
if anything extraordinarily unimportant is what you are
get it through your head the fact is not out there it’s in front of your face
smile why don’t you talk in pretty words give the bestest blow jobs to him to him you are just a convenient commodity
with willing open legs spare me those perfectly rolled tears as you hope that someday he’ll take your hand instead
dull minded old girl your will is not your own buck up
it starts with one step then two and so forth out from the world into your house where your will waits for you to open your heart
and for once let it swallow you whole
Spare Cock Amos had gone to Vegas for the weekend. I had his room all to myself if I wanted to stay there. I decided that this time I would play house.
Jeremiah was a bullfrog, etc. The song oozled out of the broken down radio. First the laundry. I put in the entire box of Tide; when Tide just smelled like Tide. I spent my roll of quarters doing one load. The suds were kinda’ thick. Drying was still a dime so I was successful at that.
Heading back to the room Bryan Boyle was waiting outside of SC’s room. He was sweaty and lost.
“Oh is Amos here, I gotta talk to him bad. I need to talk to him, is he here?”
“Fuuuuuccccckkkkkk, whadda ya mean he ain’t here, I need to talk to him!”
“Sorry man, he’s gone for the weekend. I’m just crashin’ before I take off. Heidi’s home though she might be able to help.”
I walked into the room and placed the clean linens on an old arm chair. Bryan had teleported off into outer space universe open wide on this arm chair on other occasions.
Turning to listen with intent to the guy on the radio drinking his bullfrog friend’s wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if Heidi had an arm chair too. Heidi despised me on account I couldn’t like her the way she wanted me to.
I got around to changing the bed and dusted some picture frames. Amos came from a good looking family. Groaning and door slamming could be heard. Heidi refused Bryan. I should have told him not to mention my name.
Joy to the fishes. The chair bothered me. It was the junk bunk. I rode it myself a few times. I felt shame. This shame was different than the other shame. The one you feel over something that happened that you couldn’t prevent. The chair, the junk, the Cecil were preventable. I had chosen to fuck up. I wondered what kind of shame Bryan felt, if any.
Bang, bong, ping, bap.
“Heeeyyy! Open the door that bitch called the cops!!”
Bryan sobbed and with his back to the door frame just slid down to the floor.
“I give up.” He slobbered.
“Dude, man you’ll be ok.”
I knelt beside him. His surfer shirt torn at the hems. Little yellow and pink hula girls and turquoise surfboards 3D’ed at me like flashing acid.
My heart broke as tears rolled down his chubby baby cheeks. The rain finally came. We both perked up at the opened window at the end of the hallway. Wet concrete and drunk piss wove an aromatic melody. Joy to Bryan and a little to me. City rain; we knew it well.
We talked on the floor for hours. Just about dreams and normal things and rock and roll. Sure he picked at his arms and cried a little here and there, but Bryan lived a little.
spare cock Amos had gone to Vegas for the weekend i had his room all to myself if i wanted to stay there i decided that this time i would play house
Jeremiah was a bullfrog etc the song oozled out of the broken down radio first the laundry i put in the entire box of Tide when Tide just smelled like Tide i spent my roll of quarters doing one load the suds were kinda’ thick drying was still a dime so i was successful at that
heading back to the room Bryan Boyle was waiting outside of sc’s room he was sweaty and lost
“oh is Amos here i gotta talk to him bad i need to talk to him is he here”
“fuuuuuccccckkkkkk whadda ya mean he ain’t here i need to talk to him”
“sorry man he’s gone for the weekend i’m just crashin’ before i take off Heidi’s home though she might be able to help”
i walked into the room and placed the clean linens on an old arm chair Bryan had teleported off into outer space universe open wide on this arm chair on other occasions
turning to listen with intent to the guy on the radio drinking his bullfrog friend’s wine i couldn’t help but wonder if Heidi had an arm chair too Heidi despised me on account i couldn’t like her the way she wanted me to
i got around to changing the bed and dusted some picture frames Amos came from a good looking family groaning and door slamming could be heard Heidi refused Bryan i should have told him not to mention my name
joy to the fishes the chair bothered me it was the junk bunk i rode it myself a few times i felt shame this shame was different than the other shame the one you feel over something that happened that you couldn’t prevent the chair the junk the Cecil were preventable i had chosen to fuck up i wondered what kind of shame Bryan felt if any
bang bong ping bap
“heeeyyy open the door that bitch called the cops”
Bryan sobbed and with his back to the door frame just slid down to the floor
“i give up” he slobbered
“dude man you’ll be ok”
i knelt beside him his surfer shirt torn at the hems little yellow and pink hula girls and turquoise surfboards 3d’ed at me like flashing acid
my heart broke as tears rolled down his chubby baby cheeks the rain finally came we both perked up at the opened window at the end of the hallway wet concrete and drunk piss wove an aromatic melody joy to Bryan and a little to me city rain we knew it well
we talked on the floor for hours just about dreams and normal things and rock and roll sure he picked at his arms and cried a little here and there but Bryan lived a little
the dream menu comes it’s passed around to random strangers as we zig zag through the 2nd street tunnel lined with ceramic tile once virgin white now black as desert sky my favorite graffiti walls cryptic messages like seven bones in my life i’ve only broken 8 we are used to this air nose hairs full of stuff a little boy picks at his scabs and momma holds his cup the number 81 to Eagle Rock plaza goes but we’re not ready for the home bound road instead i cruise ball heel toe over to Grand Central and order a cheese pupusa that i don’t eat and don’t know why i bought from the corner of the eye i see the three delicious ones with mint julep eye lashes calling each other a dirty trollop after a few search engine insults trollop Sassy Ass #1 goes to the ladies washroom to turn back the hands of time on her five o’clock shadow she says Adam’s apple gliding up and down i lose interest quickly as i smell a puff of clove and delay the inevitable loneliness of thought by joining the awe and admiration of booth A23 and their giant Jack fruit bowl a delicacy for the valiant but not for me today and i begin to miss Walt Whitman even though he’s never met me and Lash Larue movies on Sunday afternoon when life was very simple like begonias in the sun with the savory lure of schnitzel and Ute Lemper singing songs
here look at me i’m
simply complex doing what
He made perfection
were both off you know
drunk wild seed spreader
we met in combat always
we tried i still remember the porky pigs and bugs bunnies your fellow inmates drew when you sent letters from jail
twisted twisted twisted we became one old soul one fallen angel
it’s late now you a legend i’ll leave it there
it’s ok i’ve found others to take your place then they betrayed me too
ha! trust you say i have none not even for me
i needed a daddy maybe in another life i was something wicked and i deserved you or maybe it was the other way around
you hurt me a hurt so so deep that i don’t know how to let God in
but it’s ok i can walk talk think and take a bath i can breath laugh and when they least expect it maybe even love a little
i really needed you father when i went ape shit and almost took my life ok ok a few times
just like mom always the corrector
you tried and thanks for letting me be your father
if i was a guy i wouldn’t be a good husband but i love kids so maybe i’ve been my own dad at my age i’m still confused my time line shattered
it’s ok we did what we could i can drive monster trucks shoot guns and know basic boxing moves
thanks daddy that makes me cool
i’ve got to go now we hurt each other
your legacy was tough to carry and since then i have tweaked it a bit
maybe today i will be my own mirror
lenore/would you have fucked Bukowski (putting out cigarette butt)
grady/no (cracking knuckles)
lenore/yeah he wasn’t very handsome
grady/but he was like so fucking deep (blowing clove smoke)
lenore/i’m not a reader sorry i like a good movie (looking for American flag bic lighter in grocery bag)
grady/yeah no i’m not a big reader either (sipping diet coke slurpee)
lenore/i feel like a loser i should have been married by now (sipping fresca)
grady/i’m not worried about that (eyes melt over Brazilian guy’s round tight ass)
lenore/what do you want most of all
grady/(puckers up at sky)to feel
lenore/in control you mean i wanna be in control of everything
grady/no just to feel like feel the petal of a flower or of a beating heart or the pain of a tragedy you know like that kinda stuff
lenore/i wanna have fun and have stuff and go to a big church and have tea parties and furs and cute babies (lights a doobie)
grady/(sips diet coke slurpee and looks at dirty converse shoes) i spent so many years being numb
lenore/who’d blame you though (coughing weed smoke out at diet coke can)
grady/people we’re funny creatures contradictions i guess
lenore/(blazing) have i ever told you i don’t understand you most of the time
grady/my point exactly lenore i feel like i’m going crazy sometimes
lenore/you’re a brainiac always in your head live a little (offers doobie)
grady/(lights up a fifth clove declines doobie)i just have lots of thoughts lenore that’s all (smiles at pigeons)
lenore/you wanna get laid are you lonely my ex brother in law works at circle k he’s good in bed
grady/hmmm no and yeah (lets out a long clove smoke breath)
lenore/there has to be more to this
grady/it’s in you lenore dig deep you’re gold too
lenore/(smiles)wanna go to Med Men with me
grady/naw but thanks (gives homeless lady a clove and water bottle)
lenore/where you going babe
grady/downtown it’s dusk and the saxophones are waiting (dances a little makes lenore laugh)
At 21, I didn’t know two things; how I got through 4 years of college and who played “Slow Ride.” But grunge was growing on me and I still had Miles and Monk, maybe a little Ginger Baker in between.
I also didn’t know what to do other than just ‘party.’ Code for self medicating and wasting life away on account of being lost in the City of Angels.
I was of the streets; my family had good bones, some education, jobs, the normal shit. I didn’t, however we were all lost together but galaxies apart.
I’d walk listening to the organically mechanical jazz of the city. Notes of deep blue pain, orange notes of sorrow, pink notes of hope and black atomic scary love oozing out of the trumpets heralding our demise. Us, all walks of life, us in that beautifully grotesque melting pot of angst.
Needless to say the bad crowd fell into me. I was high functioning, a sweetheart, and functioning high. My world was slow motion in a fast velocity world. Things came seemingly easy. I could crash at the Cecil, I was a regular at King Eddie’s, where everyone didn’t care.
I raised clenched fists, joined the movements in all languages, I was smart. I read, dissected, recollected and debated. Painted, sculpted, drank it and smoked it.
At 22 I started to suspect that in all of my boundlessness I was deeply ensnared in something I had lost sight and perspective of long, long ago. Slow ride. Taken roughly and fast, fast, fast. There was this pain, a loneliness tangled up with self loathing. I had failed. It was complicated. I wanted it to be a dream, but it wasn’t. Like the rest of my human kin I wanted to feel, but I was a coward. Defeat was a drag and at times I thought if I climb down from that upside down cross it could turn very ugly. Rage they called it. I called it ‘why did they.’ I might be able to utter it someday.
It would be two years before grad school. Two years of mayhem. I like the way that sounds. It’s cool. The reality of it is pathetic and sad.
I continually looked for the Fibonacci sequence in their eyes; for reason, for answers to questions I had no idea about. In my life, meaning had lost itself particularly when roles had to be played well to keep up appearances.
Perhaps that’s why I loved the Cecil, the humanity between its walls. The smells, the dust, filth, cheap glamour, the innovation and the sheer will to survive. These where the substances of the gods. In the sterile houses in the hills nothing clung but spiritual death. Their emptiness was empty for empty’s sake. At the Cecil we had been gutted at different points in our lives so all we could do was gasp. And sometimes sing ourselves to sleep. The ride was slow at first then my wheels fell off.
at 21 i didn’t know two things how i got through 4 years of college and who played “Slow Ride” but grunge was growing on me and i still had Miles and Monk maybe a little Ginger Baker in between
i also didn’t know what to do other than just ‘party’ code for self medicating and wasting life away on account of being lost in the City of Angels
i was of the streets my family had good bones some education jobs the normal shit i didn’t however we were all lost together but galaxies apart
i’d walk listening to the organically mechanical jazz of the city notes of deep blue pain orange notes of sorrow pink notes of hope and black atomic scary love oozing out of the trumpets heralding our demise us all walks of life us in that beautifully grotesque melting pot of angst
needless to say the bad crowed fell into me i was high functioning a sweetheart and functioning high my world was slow motion in a fast velocity world things came seemingly easy i could crash at the Cecil i was a regular at King Eddie’s where everyone didn’t care
i raised clenched fists joined the movements in all languages i was smart i read dissected recollected and debated painted sculpted drank it and smoked it
at 22 i started to suspect that in all of my boundlessness i was deeply ensnared in something i had lost sight and perspective of long long ago slow ride taken roughly and fast fast fast there was this pain a loneliness tangled up with self loathing i had failed it was complicated i wanted it to be a dream but it wasn’t like the rest of my human kin i wanted to feel but i was a coward defeat was a drag and at times i thought if i climb down from that upside down cross it could turn very ugly rage they called it i called it ‘why did they’ i might be able to utter it someday
it would be two years before grad school two years of mayhem i like the way that sounds it’s cool the reality of it is pathetic and sad
i continually looked for the Fibonacci sequence in their eyes for reason for answers to questions i had no idea about in my life meaning had lost itself particularly when roles had to be played well to keep up appearances
perhaps that’s why i loved the Cecil the humanity between its walls the smells the dust filth cheap glamour the innovation and the sheer will to survive these where the substances of the gods in the sterile houses in the hills nothing clung but spiritual death their emptiness was empty for empty’s sake at the Cecil we had been gutted at different points in our lives so all we could do was gasp and sometimes sing ourselves to sleep the ride was slow at first then my wheels fell off
gold tooth black Stetson hat
a shitload of loitering tickets and pink assless chaps
he was from Mississippi grew up on bad land
menfolk took his innocence his momma shot herself
we both sit by the parrot tree looking cross the street at the hipsters in the street meat taco line
as if he’d quip every now and again
how’d you become a cowboy Earl
that’s a personal question Grady
cool i’d say passing the Batman portable bong his way