I sometimes forget the bugs arent there
Ha ha, old boy what we must do is get a plane and flee the sun, fly the world and never get old. It’s all relativity aint it? Keep moving! Time can fuck itself.
Brick wall, white wall, teal doors. Trees hacked at the bottom, spiky at the top.
——Boring little obligation.
Here starts the drainage ditch.
——The character, it’s all in the signs. That’s the city, in the individual and poorly made, kitsch, self produced and lovely. And it’s in the fading, crumbling, boarded up things.
——The McSuburb is like any other franchise, the same everywhere, prefabricate. The old, personal business and home is identity.
But if I never saw her again, would I be sorry?
——Bask in your wonderful aura.
There she is! Wow!
——God help me.
Do gophers buttfuck?
——Everyone’s on cell phones, huh?
The bat’s shadow is in the way.
——It’s all a gamble-ing addiction.
‘Would y’all like to donate a dollar to cancer?’
‘I’m already committed to cirrhosis. Sorry.’
How sad! Death.
——Isnt that what it’s been all long?
Aint queer, ah jus hate wimmen.
——Ah God! I’m just so aimless.
It hits you real smooth, you know, gradual.
——I dont think it’s worth lying about.
Genius originate. Talent imitates (well).
——Ha ha, dont cry about it.
Every fuckin day a my life.
——Lighters, strung up like Christmas lights.
Fat cheeked loudmouth.
——Curl-haired fake. (We’re ready to negotiate.)
They know how to smile, how to grin. Aint no sin in that. (But really massively scrambled.)
——Never apologize for having sex. Physical pleasure is pleasure enough, and all there is.
If she aint yer ma, she’s a whore.
——Ya, it’s copious.
——Gah, crumble little cookie, just this way. Yankees. Hey, rotate. The day died. But it was old and full of (dog) years.
——Why would you call me that? Where did you hear that name? Who told you? I just need to know. It doesnt matter why.
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for we sinners, now and at the hour of our deaths. Amen.
If I was important, I wouldnt have to tell anyone.
She’s blonde and in those tight sweatpants I want to take hold of her arse and bite it clean thru. She’s not even five yet, Christ. (‘Ain’t she cute with her curly hair, tho?’)
——Let’s despise all of ourselves.
Every siren means a bad day for somebody.
——You can package bullshit as philosophy successfully ’cause people love working it out.
I love the smell of my own sweat, and hers.
My lust comes in waves, for shore.
The lights are so bright, the sky’s all black. I like watching the gray smoke in the air hang and get carried off by the wind.
——Heaven in between your thighs.
I don’t know. Do they?
——We arent going to be together forever, but maybe for a while. She warned me she’s not perfect, but if we’re together long enough for me to find out, that’s good in itself.
——Sitting together on the couch, we were perfectly happy, tho it didnt last. We live for such moments, maybe because they’re fleeting.
‘America’s vast pool of alcoholic newspapermen.’
——I clapped in a silent lobby (to kill a fly; I did), and no one looked up. Says something, dont it?