Archive for November 2009
Stoner dude (Dave) with blonde dreadlocks and a Seedless t-shirt is waiting for the doctor to come back with his x-ray results. Doc finally walks in.
Dave – (real positive/excited/nervous voice) “So Doc, how’d I do?”
Doc – (slow and calm voice, looking over the x-ray) “Do you ever….have difficulty catching yer breath, Dave?”
Dave – (after a long pause) “Yea man, actually yu know, I have had breathin’ troubles, man. It’s like….it’s like fuckin’ cottonmouth of the lung, man. Cottonlung.”
Doc – (gives the x-ray to Dave) “Dave, there’s a blunt in yer lung.”
Dave – (wide-eyed with surprise) “Dude.”
Doc – “Dude.”
Sauntered brows look then connect. Refusing to back down, he softly spoke with shallow eyes, undressing her entire body with simply a twitch of his pupil. Embracing what’s there, but accepting what’s not. ”Just let go, let it all go”, he whispered to her through tense lips and diluted clouds of peppermint schnapps. She felt him more than ever now. Letting her fingertips stray freely, she drew invisible spirals down every single indent on his polished mid-section. Toes curled, she met eyes with his. ”Don’t ever stop, baby, I feel so….so fucking incredible.” He couldn’t help but expose a guilty little half-smile. “Never, love. Never.”
Cruisin’ 40′s minus a care,
Life is good when a truth masks a dare.
Round and round on an endless track,
Staring onlookers don’t ever look back.
Plague the spectators and rob them of money,
The humor’s not worth it if you don’t find it funny.
Snuggling up to confusion won’t help you a bit,
You mind the rest of it, I’ve got the tip.
Walk this way my young ruthless fellow,
Sparks of orange linger and shades dip to yellow.
Grasping air to keep with the faith,
I swallow too harshly; too bad it’s too late.
Peeling layers, tempt me, tempt me,
Ship me crooks until they get me.
I won’t leave here, no I won’t,
Repeat the doubles to kill the notes.
Worthy shadows, keep them coming,
Axe down the stems, the flowers are budding.
Pull me closer, man with power,
Memories gratify, then switch to sour.
Fuck, I need music. Seriously, like life is so pointless without it. I can’t understand people who lack a favorite genre, or the ones who don’t start moving when their favorite song comes on. Doesn’t make sense, man.
You wanna know another thing that makes no fucking sense what-so-ever? Love.
Trying to apply logic to it only leads you through a dense jungle of question marks and unfinished business. Yer falling for this person, but you have no idea why. Or you do have an idea, but have no idea why you have that idea. So fucking complicated, man.
And then yer stuck all day with this person inside EVERYthing you say or do. Wonder what he’s up to? Does he think about me as much as I do him? Shit, does he love me as strong as I love him?
Sometimes it gets so bad, I’ll find myself lying on my bed hour after fucking hour attempting to counterattack my negative thoughts/doubts. Jealousy? Naw….it’s simply longing. Longing? Naw….it must be lust. Lust? Pshhh, tis’ only love. Haha, there’s one for the books; only love. Fuck my life man, fuuuuuuuck my life.
(Just kidding, life is good….)
Tricks of the trade, come here reason. Poisoning kung fu ninjas, citrus oranges-r-us. Dickin’ it up down here and if you can’t figure that out I oughta nail you a sucker punch to the soul. Sticky fingerprints are good people; I’d be the first to hang out with em’. The clouds gather mouthfuls, they mesmerize with lingering shadows. Kissing the flame, the fire tickles my teeth in extraordinary fashion.
I know you crave that quick dip to contentment, like forcing a fading firefly to flash to exhaustion. But I ask you now, is it truly worth it? Put life jackets on swollen ankles and they float, they do. Attach some Velcro to garage doors and you got yerself an outlet. Nice hands, feet. It might take a tad longer on yer face though. Fuck. Now I smell like kickers and cooking spatulas. Fog farts due me in; they’re treating me to a four-course smoke session.
Learning the ropes of laughter, I have the power to stop. But of course I refuse. Hit it, suck it, smash it, repeat. Singing to keep warmth, boxing words in an overwhelming vocabulary of slurs and unpunctuated sentences. Shit baby, we’ll fight to six rounds, some pushing seven. An orgasm of inspiration, my bones turn tingly. RIP for now, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Apples and tomatoes nuke bananas, don’t they? Haha, yes they do. We’re good, yes we are.