This is delayed and belated. I've split my time since the last post (call it a month) drunk/with school/with work/with band; sloppy on all accounts. I wouldn't say writing has taken a back seat to anything, but it has taken the form of scribbles on scrap paper. I tell myself, "Don't work on writing, there is school to be done!" But nothing is ever finished. So for this, I will gather up the few papers and translate. I'm certainly not promising any of it is good. These are only the papers I can find that were between me and the beer.
Scratch That
She cut my hand
where the blood line crosses
I moved it back and
P U L L E D
my nails over the wound
Otis Redding came on
and we fucked the whole
thing up
He can't stand beside me
while I write this
dumb shit
all of the time
As if this is
Genius
One Cat, New Cat, Red Fish
She's barely new
to this world
has ripped my curtains
D
O
W
N
She's pissed
all over my brown robe
I ask her
"Can you act
like a lady for once?"
Vomit on the floor
rubbing her vagina
on my new typewriter
There's that joke
Take me out to dinner first
But I can't even get a collar
that will stay tight
Sheets
I worry
I don't know
where she is
what pain is
I see it
I feel her
Continually
Is this
the worst
What I call
pain?
life?
Am I
thin
skinned
the others
are so
calloused
BrNSINNNNNN, R, E=R IXG!!!
(I Was Drunk For This One)
After I fucked her
In the shower
I looked down
on myself
I asked if she had
a chainsaw somewhere
in her vagina
She had
it seemed
So we washed off
we dried off
had a cigarette
drank a beer
and turned on
the music
The last piece I was going to include isn't that great and could lead toward another intervention so I have chosen to omit the whole thing. I assure you, it was actually hinting towards my own fear of death. Oh hell.... Unfortunately/ Considering death/ but when it comes/ I know I won't/ want it.
That wasn't so bad. Was it.
