I start talking shit and then I trail off. It doesn't matter if nobody's listening because I know what I said. You can bottle up something permanent and stronger than brick and hock it like an old tyme con artist or you can leave it at the fucking bus station. It doesn't mean it's going to blow anybody's mind. But I'll keep trying like the song says a hundred times. The Impressions on the turntable. Forty fives and a forty five. A wave crashes and washes some shit away. It corrodes my mind and leaves with a mighty trace.
Figured on having this just be some stories but I get caught up in the after work, the burying of the body and now they're all piled up. Impulsive rants and bullshitting with some fools on a porch and/or a scheme of paint splattered and I'm trying to make sense of all this.
What's with the delay? I ask myself. And that's it. Too many things at once so I might as well say something about it. I tried to reserve this space in the infinite erasable canvas of bullshit that is the internet, solely for completed work. But I failed this time and I'll fail again and as soon as I'm all right with it, the sooner I'll feel better about everything.
I went to New Orleans and I saw hundreds of snakes, three alligators and a million people across that southern stretch just getting by. I drank three hundred beers, got high as shit, invasive are the good times that caress your soul before they go away for good. Now I'm back in town. Oakland, California. Twothousandten.
Now I have to call the union and hear the same asshole tell me the same asshole things. He gets paid to do so. Maybe I'll take some classes at a community college. Today I'll make chorizo and green chile, some tortillas, I'll blast Anthrax once this record ends. Among the Living. I'll be forced to be all right.
Maybe someone, just someone, will come home smiling, bloody from having taken a knife to all them ruthless fuckers out there. Maybe she'll need to change her clothes. Maybe she'll stay awhile. Maybe she also likes Anthrax and Mexican food. Maybe she likes me. I don't know but I'm down to play it cool until tomorrow shows up banging the door down at dawn, DEA/LAPD style, fifty of those assholes after a week of threatening phone calls. I have to be cool and make the silence last until they show up in the early morning, saying, "Wake up Motherfucker."
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That was a good time, dude. You're best when your head is above cesspool. I really like to read your blog.
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