I woke up with her eyes burnt into my skin. Everywhere I looked I saw her pupils, like cutting daggers stealing my breath. But I didn’t ask her name before I was woken up by the thunder out side. I had just been thinking the day before how much I missed the rain. As the rain poured from my viewing post just inside the threshold of the door, I looked for the rain drops to spell her name. But there were no puddles for the drops to write in.
Sometimes days will pass and I realize I haven't had a conversation with anyone, sometimes just a few sentences are exchanged, that's it, doesn't count. But its been a long time since words have convened like heavy bricks building a castle, no just sand and bits of grass, dead bugs, ash, empty beer cans, dead birds, seems to be all we toss these days. Or just simple piles of dog shit, not even bullshit, just half digested balloon striped dog shit.
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Helena prances about a half dead kitchen, shes tired its apparent in her eyes but not in her walk and smile. She gives little hints of what the warmth between her legs desires but shes got livestock to tend to. So it just comes out as a slip. like when your staring at a plate waiting for Jesus to make his body into bread and his blood into wine. you haven’t eaten all day or much the day before. That one little drip of saliva that falls onto the bleached table cloth, sanitary. Making a dark Grey blotch and the fear turns your face read your head full of iron sparks. Since you don’t want anyone to know you don’t care. But you just want Jesus to stop his verbal masturbating and fork over his fucking bread and wine.
Then you think about the things you would do to that poor Helena, shes can be a raging bitch when he mouth gets warmed up over some event. You tune it out, listen quietly, like you have had soooooooooooo much practice doing. All those girls, those significunt others, trained you at. Your desire burning just waiting for her to shut her fucking mouth so you could fill it with your tingling cock.. but Helena is just a statue, a picture behind a sheet of glass in a frame. You cant touch.
But you wonder if she wouldn’t mind, at least, as much as you would if you could just take the frame apart, secretly, to feel the warmth hidden inside. Then on those nights when the bantering gets a little heated, she scurries off, trying to skip out the door. lingering awkwardly, dragging on the conversation.. then you wonder, does she think about you when she fucks the leprechaun? Maybe, he wont make eye contact with you, maybe she said your name while he was throwing his hotdog in her moist passage. And now he has to pump it up with a prescribed, device, a prostivac, since he cant afford the pill that does the cheap trick.
Then there’s that shape shifting creature again lurking in effervescent in my dreams. Sometimes she chases me with a chain saw, then when I quivering with fear she gives me the most loving handjob. With a little kiss on my earlobe, if I wake up shes gone, if I don’t she turns into a wraith prying her way down my throat then eats my heart a nibble at a time. I wake up either shaking off. the expection of her to be there, its just an ice sickle lying there in empty space, barbed edges scoring my skin. Her name is lodged in my throat but its not a word just a razor blade threatening to cut if I materialize the words.
I’ve forgotten how to wander, I have left the streets un stepped upon for too long. My left leg, shin onward, turns into a lead hammer to remind me every other time I return. The asphalt of the streets carries a strange green hue with arrows saying “move, move, move!” but I know these streets, I know there names, there arch, there return policy. So I look away, avoiding altogether. I walk in the grass the sidewalks, the fenced in arenas of empty dust, carcass, roaches.
Then when my head feels so empty theirs nothing left to find, I pick up crumbs of past cooked meals I served. But it just brings me back to where I started, a dull lulling shell, of pity self defeat. But now that I know this can I build a weapon, hunt it down. Those little rabid squirrels that eat us away from the inside. Set traps with poisoned peanuts, apples with razor shards, flowers waiting for them to mark there funeral when they’ve died.
And the sparks of dragging old metal scraps around on these concrete devastation. Are they just instant or will the light start a fire, that makes an nuclear reaction to wipe this clean. will radiation wash down all the cancer in the throats of the sewers.
8-31
A blond woman 5ft 2, and drunk out of her mind stands on a stage. Love shack blares from the speaker and she bellows “get out on the highway..” shes so out of key that its like nails on a chalk board. But most of the inebriated dim whits, infected, have no idea, they just stare at the pair of double ds stumbling around behind the microphone. The bar is smoggy, cigarette smoke, alcohol breath, and desperation pouring out of everyone's exhaust pipes. Its like swirling green fog around a pond full of herpified half dead peranas. But still the drunk pair of tits pipes on, and on. My fucking head hurts..
at the end of the bar a drunkard buys shot after shot for the dried up puss tunnel hes trying to stick his dick in. the bar tender paces cleaning imaginary s s to avoid getting to close to these living dead. No wonder my head hurts, pulsing throbs of needles.
Finally out the fucking door, its over. I wander home talking back and fourth with some shadow I cant see his face but I know him well. Hes a good friend I only have a few so its not hard to guess who he is. I burst through the front door wander to the couch, wait.. detour... piss time. As I walk back that old scum bag apears, the one I dread. Hes all friendly, or pretending, he becomes less and less like a person each time I see him. Shrinking a bit, eyes sinking in a bit, intellect falling down. A walking piece of shit if your not carefull he'll leave brown stains with his drunk stagger bouncing off walls as he goes.
He starts touching stuff, my stuff, my guitars, he goes to my room hes so fucking drunk he cant stand. Finally ive had enough I tell him to leave. He gets to the back door ready to go drive home but he can barely stand up. I take his keys, tell him to walk his stupid ass home. I just want him out the door so I can lock it, lock him out. He gets mad at me, but I dont fucking care, he grabs at me. Suddenly were at the wall outside my room. He bounces into the picture on the wall, the old one from my great granma, smashing it, glass pictures every where. I grab him by the neck, its like hes an inflatable maniquin, my fingers grip tight. He starts walking like hes going to leave, he steps on my ukulele smashing it to bits, knocks over my epiphone taking a chunk out of the side.
Then the mother fucker goes for pinky, like hes going to drag it on the ground, drop it something. I fucking snap, his face hits the wall, my fist hits his face, blood on my knucles, over and over I pound his head into the ground. His head goes flat like and inflatable toy. But hes not dead, I throw him out the door like hes a child he smashes into the stairs more blood. But still hes alive, anamated atleast.
The cops come, they take him, im going to jail, hes going to die, im not sure what the fuck is going on.. its just gray and foggy. I walk into take pinky out of the case, kiss her, “i love you... I miss you”... I wake up...
so of course after this I have to bust pinky out, and play her. After I finally fall back asleep, get up do whatever, coffee, shower, blah.. set up to record run throw a few takes with the dot to get it flowing. Left side done, bust pink out, amazingness, she takes complete controll. She channels riffs, fills, whatever from me. The songs giddy up, I dont know where those parts came from. towards the end but I had to back off a bit or the song would have went somewhere else alltogether. If pink would have had her way she would have re wrote her own version of the song I could feel it coming out of her.
I dont understand this, I have a dream about my guitar, then I can feel her pulling things out of me as I play. Maybe shes jelous, maybe im being dramatic, but I felt something pulling. God I love that fucking guitar. What a whife..... I cant wait to throw down more tracks with her, write new black these out tracks, see what she does on the marooned recordings..
the funny thing about the dream is I didnt care about anything, the uke the cops, whatever. As soon as he touched pink I destroyed him. When I woke up im not sure how I felt, it was pretty intense but I wasn’t mad or shook up. I just had to walk around and catch my breath a bit. Make sure pinky was where she was suppose to be. Then I watched a movie, went back to sleep, woke up got ready. Then pinky took advantage of me... recording naked...
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