we've come a long way, little duck.

i'm sorry you forgot.

sometimes the cloudiest skies seem arousing, the physical weight of multi-tonal gray days pressing on me like a pushy lover. a veritable tropical paradise, i breathe the cool breeze and traverse sidewalks turned seas.

crystal waters is playing. gypsy woman.

i've seen so many of these same sights. i'm ready to stop fighting. i'm ready to accept and ready to run. i'm ready to take responsibility and see you with another woman.

i don't trust you anymore.
i don't love you anymore.

but i tried.

if i had a motorcycle.

i would drive so fast i'd end up at a point in time where we can both laugh at how stupid i am.

but in all reality, i'll probably just end up another skidmark on an abandoned road.

if the sun doesn't come out soon i fear i may lose much more than my tan.

learned or inherited?

i cannot move of my own accord.



i will forever be waiting for someone to simply take me.







like a jilted lover i sit hovering resting and sifting deftly through the words heard over so many murderous mutterings

sputtering no more than exasperated replies.

the frustrations of anunciating the phrases
separated from the emaciated frame of what cannot be named
a conundrum exacerbated by stories so nearly the same.

heavy footed or on shaky heels pointed toes and flexing bridges
transmit the static sans script and trace these finely inked ridges.

every day is a gamble, yet i never make bets.

the more perfect i realize the world around me has become, the more i feel a mere amalgamation of mistakes.

doing lines.

i push and go with the ebb and flow of the single unfamiliar familiarity i know.

a mind is never made up more or less than the bed on which its pillow and head may rest.

oftentimes i lay waking cursing the modest, decent and demure, be it abhorrence or fear, my blood boils 'til pure.

a wish for the chance to take back a broad shouldered stance, a plea to be cellophane given one final chance.

classic traps set by the hunter for he, the pitfalls of speculation, a confused un-question of fealty.

as man can plan for every last detail, the merits of such in comparison pale.

a hobby, comeuppance or mere charade promised ahead, a heart out of place or stopped beating feels heavy as lead.

i wish i could live simultaneous parallel lives shifting continuously in every temporal direction.

thanks for the advice, friends.

an interview with Glitter Dick: part I

As i walk up to the cafe where i'm supposed to be meeting him, i'm suddenly overcome with apprehension. how the hell am i, of all people going to be able to relate this story, nay this legend, without ever having experienced anything like it?
From half a block away i can see him standing there, leaning on the weathered brick wall, slowly pulling on a cigarrette. he's almost majestic, in the animal kingdom kind of way, long and lean and unforgiving. i don't so much walk to his side, but slither, trying to stay low to the ground should i decide to flee.
"you know i wasn't always like this," he immediately tells me. "The day the accident happened, man, THAT was when things changed."

-----------------------------------------------

GD:"arite, arite, arite, but before we go any further lady just stop for a second, let's just stop, just have a moment of silence man"

(pause)

"so arite think about everybody as a circle man, none of this sphere shit like real hardcore liney sketched out raw circles man, like a ven diagram on methamphetamine screwing your uncle because it needs the money, but don't we all really when it comes down to it? i mean like really aren't we all on some form of speed, pharmaceutical or otherwise?" (and, sheilding his mouth with his hand, as if to protect the worn, faded awning behind him from the cold hard truth of it all) "and it is almost always otherwise...."

"so either way man we're on the right track here. we're examining the circles man, all these intersecting circles, and in between the circles there's just ghosts and air you know like those sounds i hear sound like someone's here the space is theirs but they're not there kinda deally you know? i don't know my mom was an english teacher or some shit i just love that shit. whatever man all i'm tryin to say is whatever it doesn't even matter anyway. "