the rain pissed down on the delta for two straight days and still the highway stank like dead skunk it’s a comforting stink – musty like dolyula revolting, like dead memories you can’t stop hashing over of sick rooms and blind corners spin outs in blizzards while the ramones blared on frayed nerves meltdowns paranoia fried metal in the middle of a lightening storm splattered-polecat stink ...
Your lies are old
But you tell them pretty good.
YOU MIGHT FIND YOURSELF: ON SEEING THE 100%... →
youmightfindyourself: by Haruki Murakami One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is…
I’m finally getting new shoes. That is all.
Saw my bones, all white & a-glisten, the most I’ll be is unfound - All I die for, daily, endless, unwound & bound to the gates of eden. & who I be? whoever you think belongs - honor & decency all been stripped & sliced to ribbons. O Charlotte-girl, can you still see me & do you still care?
the guy who invented fire
by steve albini invent a fire gonna lay down in it learn a lesson what they do w/ it invent a fire keep it under my hat a lot of ppl out there cd use a thing like that invent a boat make it out of wood make it float bust it up into firewood, burn it the fire, worth more than the boat
dream - [08.08.04] 11:00am
first I’m in Paul Hawkins’s Lincoln, the automatic 2nd cousin to the White Whale - I’m waiting in some parking lot for Jenna M., yet again - she’s probably in her minivan, with some friends I’ve never seen before - I’m surprised she’s speaking to me after that last message - “It hurt my feelings,” she says. “It was supposed to,” I...
Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of...– Carl Gustav Jung (via claptothis)
old pomes (4)
<mothman cometh> polar view & parallax’d, dragonfly-deficient, deciduous & dynamite, I place glycerine in envelopes & store them in yr liver —> Deliver me from virtue - perfect birth on a urinal —> shout down the storm, - lower! I refuse to abuse myself —> (masturbation is self-improvement, & resoundly, profoundly bad for bees) ...
old pomes (3)
the Good Lord told the scorpion to kneel in the mist, as the Chimp God rode the panting, humid breeze - & every soul worth saving was already long dead - & the friends you lost have hidden in the leaves - One thing you shd trust: a man will let you down, & a woman will break you even worse - I’ll find you in the the moonlight, howling, crawling through the world, hands all...
but I’ve come to believe they are actually quite rare. Something is at work, okay? Somewhere in the universe (or behind it), a great machine is ticking and turning its fabulous gears.” -Stephen King, from 11/22/63
old pomes (2)
april’s death song No one comes over but I ain’t got no blues i gotta dead harmonic shortwave suffusion, A broken trombone splitting lies crossed with ironwood jaws - & i’ve staggered in orchards & puked in wineries - i’ve stopped traffic with tortured wails, A symphonic reunion, jagged scars, a shock a bolt of damaged tears, this caustic relay - laughing synapses...
old pomes (because my new ones suck) (1)
that girl in Berkeley - telegraph halo, looked like tori amos w/ purpleblack hair, a silk shawl & a gown made of nightmares - 01/08/03 Amoeba Records, Berkeley, CA