Monday, May 21, 2012

human suffering 25.4

I remember taking you to that art museum. You didn’t give a shit about the art. You only wanted to smoke my hash and drink some beers. I knew that I would love your forever, or at least until the morning. You said that you cried watching me on the cross. You are escaping from the egg of existence. Cracking up the shell one small piece at time, you can see your freedom approaching-but this only a deception. There is a small skull on your table beckoning to you to come. You are child jumping on the death bed. So many blue people, nobody gives a fuck what I think, nobody gives a fuck what I think. i don't have anything that I am really passionate about. There is just nothing there. nothing there at all. I am kicking an old bucket around the room, it doesn’t hold water any more. There have been quiet; I haven’t heard a peep from the dogs. I don’t care what people do. Out in the middle of nowhere and I’m so thrilled to be in my own place. The roof needs to be fixed, a fucking nightmare. Why are reading this? What are you learning from me? I’ve got to get to work. I am wearing different shoes. They were all that I could find. I am down to my last bucket of scrap. I got to figure how to make some cash. What can I do? You can name your dog Fido, trusted friend. Everything goes in a special place.  I am photographing your flowers, each and every one. You were trying to be polite as I smashed all of your dishes and pissed on your freshly shampooed carpet. I slit my wrist and drew you a map to my heart on your living room wall. Someday you will die just like Johnny Carson. I stayed up all night watching Dean Martin drink and pretend to be drunk. There is a little Nazi in your head and I’m trying to get him out. I think we will need a priest to do an exorcism. Can you touch your toes?

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