what was i thinking about? is it gone? an absence of words. and absence of neurosis. spelling takes all my thinking power. an absence of action. an absence of words. an absence of neurosis. i had a big idea and by the time i got logged on it was gone.
ok ok ok…i drank my way into diabetes…it’s official. now what?
let’s see…how about eating.????
1. take an eggplant and cut it into 1/2 inch slices.
2.soak the eggplant slices in salt water for about 2 hours.
4.coat a casserole dish with vegetable oil.
5.put the eggplant into the dish. sprinkle a little mozzerella cheese on the eggplant.
6. sprinkle some oregano on the cheese.
7. slice up a couple of beefsteak tomato’s and put on top of the eggplant and cheese.
8. sprinkle some dill on top of tomato.
9. bake on 325 for 30 minutes.
10. eat the fuck out of that shit. you can add smoked oysters or tuna or whatever else you want.
take the apple from your tree
and rub her gently gently
take a bite and soothe her
soothe her scrambled mind
calm calm calm your mom
she’s had it rough and when
her apple juice is flowing
i’ll bite again so gently
and lay her beneath your apple tree
and bone your mom
and bone her
all her lovers float by like logs on a river
and you can scream from your patio
you’ll never know your mom
like i do
any thread of femininity dropped away
she was a human in pain
awkward curled up pain
lite my fire
smoke white norcos smoke white norcos juust white norcos
Once again Kentucky deluxe comes to mind. A trailer in the tree’s and an old hound in a shallow grave. I shot my own dog. He was in a bit of a coma like state- having heart worms I guess.
I couldn’t much take him to the vet. He was big and mean sometimes..not really mean..he was crazy..rough childhood or some bullshit thing.
He laid in the car port for a day or two before I shot him in the head with a 22.
He put one foot out and pressed against the trunk of a tree and I shot him again.
The only thing to drink in the entire trailer was Miller lite that somebody left. I’d been sober for three weeks and I owed it to that dog to get drunk, but I didn’t. Not just then. i would later get drunk on Rum and Coke after this crazy old bitch showed up an AA meeting in Palestine and I couldnt bring myself to go in and admit that I’d fucked her SOBER aahh for crying out loud. We will not regret the past or wish to close the door on it my ass. I was parked in the parking lot of a liquor store anyway, because i didn’t want anyone to see my car parked outside the AA place.
So I went in and bought the Rum and Coke and after thirty days with no booze I could feel the rum make my tummy numb. I didn’t bury the dog very deep, but nothing dug him up while I was there. I was there six years and it seems like a dream now.
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping
thats the deal.
you see, why does it matter to me if you get the goose warts? walk on.
and the i’ve got mrsa too. i pump iron at
THEE BODY TEMMPLE MOUNT
and leave sweaty samples for you to enjoy. just grab some. get some.
i see you with your anti-bacterial vials of safety. persistence beats resistance. all the time. dream on haters. one day a real rain is gonna caome. watch these gutters clean.
its sunday and i got a call that someone is trying to use my credit card, but its an automated call that wont connect me to a live operator (because its sunday. call back tomorrow after 9 am bitch.0 have a nice day.(
tell me agian why. i have twelve days off starting today. and things are spiralling out of control
and the first thought goes to the proverbial fart in the bathtub.
does water amplify the smell of a fart?
let me tell you “yes”
of course on a beach in the mexican morning, a burp is a bubble that can smell (and taste) like a fart.
one can only know the taste of a fart by being inside a trailer, loading a trailer, with an obese scabulent from florida who stutters unless he is cursing. he farts and waves a carton of stolen cigarettes behind his ass as he walks into the trailer.
your mouth is suddenly coated, your throat is attacked by a moist fungus that once resided in his stomach.
my knees hurt. the arthritis foundation wants money. the surgeons. recommend i get a new job.
my doctor recommends i go back to work.
i cant walk around the block.
my knees hurt
my moans dont wake the wife
i call the mental health clinic
its too early
i push 1..1 is the suicide button
the rest is a blur
i am in my first psychiatric ward
i cry cry cry
i cant see thru the tears
5 days 5 days 5 days
what happened to 72 hour observation?
i make friend. i love mentally ill people.
i demand to be released when a homicidal maniac enters the ward and takes my room
i have to share a room with an apnea blast furnace
i demand freedom.
i wind up in the senior ward and i am medicated enough to hijack karaoke night for two hours.
i am singing ” white wedding” by billy idol when they pull the plug.
retreat to my room with diaper man and a great wall of concrete feces
all the smells the accompany white wedding diaper blocks of the great block of the senior ward and a mattress that smells like urine.
i’m not bagging on seniors. one day i hope to make a psychiatric ward smell that way.
the next day i demand to see the authorities and they are dismayed by the way i can weave facts and fiction into the kinds of headlines the might snatch some attention.
i am returned to the ward from which i came.
the whole ordeal was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.
i need pills and booze and i am much better at talking the talk with mental patients that i meet here and there.
i have a new audience.
of course this is an outline
a sketch from the bracelet makers everywhere
my name is loser
and i’m a real alcoholic
i break down alcohol 40 percent faster than non-alcoholics
and 50 pecent of other alcoholics
i break alcohol down into a chemical that is very similar
its called acetaldehyde
dont even ask me how to pronounce it
dont ask me to pontificate
because i’m getting to the jist of the matter
and cant be bothered with minutia
i’m an idea man
an ideal alcoholic
i wasnt created by environmental issues
1. mean daddy
2. slutty mommy
3. father flannigan
4. mental illness
back to acetaldehyde (fucked up word to have to type)
my liver cant deal with the sheer volume that i produce
so the excess gets mixed up with
seratonin and dopamine and becomes a substance that my body
it fills the opiate receptors
and explains the attraction
as for the other alcoholics
many are too stupid to drink
too crazy to drink
undiciplined children that ask the coppers to beat the shit out of them
just plain old people who grew up traumatized
pukers should have their own 12 step program
puking is a sure fire way of knowing you’re not happy
nose like a firehouse
apologizing between heaves
eats shoots and heaves