the blood red bird

It's the dead heart of winter, but somewhere outside of the open window there is the garbled and crackling screech of something very alive. It was not a rooster that awoke me today, from tossing slumber, instead in the whispering and windy fret of night, by a bird whose body is broken and blood red. A blood red bird...

Thank you Bill Callahan

makeup sex

Hit me, im ready for a gruelling shot, a valiant attempt if you have one in you.

Back up if you need to and let swing your rage, kick freely and until the last thud has resonated and you can let your feet down, relaxed and light from pushing this vehemence.

Are you done or ready to start again? Let me know, we have kissing and making up to do. Sorry I called you dad and asshole and your mother pretentious, I still think it, just sorry I said it to you. So get back in the saddle...

recycled pop culture trash

mhhh... Head hurts... Heart racing, jumping... I feel over-caffeinated or strung out. Chest takes three beats at a time, quite frustrating. Tense fingers hit springy keys and clicky plastic buttons, tiny volume knobs and little rubber push switches. These aren't connected to me, although I sometimes imagine they are tied up to the essence of me waking up, or of me tuning in to the world.

Good point, click the shit off and take a shower. It's probably just another R Kelly song or a book by Grisham, cranking out their byproducts like some petroleum factory. Or maybe its new porn too, showing me what its like to unleash and unbridle sexual frustration, or reminding me with a painful lash of things that my lovers are doing now to others.

Nothing is sacred... Nothing is pure... Ill look for some Talking Heads instead, and perhaps some pictures of beautiful women working on oil rigs or fishing boats, dressed to kill in rubber slickers and cool weather rain gear, just sluicing out the product that we are all engaged in doing.

You make it, I eat it... Good morning my crooked little earth.

finding love and coming down

I found love today...

I walked slowly down an unfamiliar street, stepping lightly on veined sidewalks and letting a hot breeze over my arms and in to fill my mouth.

I saw love sitting on a bench that flanked a dirty street. Its figure was not what I expected, but somehow I had a subconscious recognition, a flare of synaptic recollection as I finally fell upon it.

To my surprise, love wore a simple smock and when I approached spoke in a plain if not raspy voice. I thanked love for finally finding me, or stopping long enough for me to stumble to its feet. Love spoke monotone and gave me a simple word of advice;

If you truly love something,
love something so thoroughly that without it your heart would wilt; then you must let it go...

If what you love then comes back to you,
on hands and knees, and reeking of a twisted world,
beaten by its own vice and haunted daily by whim and avarice, then you probably didn't want it to begin with, and then you can live forever without nurturing the unlovable...

I fought back an acidic tear, and a cough from a dry and constricted throat. Love was a contemptuous mistress, and I had only begun to hear its sonorous sighs.

Nonetheless, I asked love for walk, and I steadied with my hand in its shriveled little paw. We walk past sad couples, kissing couples, broken and lonely couples. Everyone was jealous of my companion, but I could care less. Love was being a bitch today anyway.

three's enough, barely

Dear Journal,

Last night was a particularly sound night of sleep. With chagrin and surprise I awoke without the gnawing of the world at my chest, and less the acrid afterthought of cheap alcohol and perfume. I was luckily able to shake off all that peaceful feeling crap with a good round of screaming and throwing office supplies. This act made me peaceful, but had the side effect of waking up the other enthusiastically hungover occupants of my bed. I was made a peaceable plea bargain and was again lulled into restful slumber knowing full well that if I hadn't have had three pillows I would be getting jack for sleep anyhow..

its blog and tell, and I helped

Welcome to my goddamn blog. It's new and fresh and it will kick that social consternation out of your stomach and into your retching throat.