April 2011: ‘It’s called “fucking” because it fucks up everything.’

by maddrunkgenius

A thousand little dissatisfactions huddle under the umbrella of one name.

  •  ‘How could you?’ said the raven to the blue jay.
  • But no one was surprised.

I’m dissatisfied. The as-is world is not what we were promised.

But the concrete glows green with the shine of leaves. (It’s a good day.)

I hope to die with feet concrete.

  • So you want the mob to toss you into the East River?
  • Well, I’d like to die on my feet rather than live on my knees, and concrete feet might prop me up.

There’s no more that can be done than what we’ve done before. We are ourselves, and fundamental change is rare & not long held.

  • What awful queer talk from the addled brain made so by the distillation of things stronger than a body could ever bear.
  • Alas! A grizzly. And now it chases after in pursuit of easy meal. We shall never both outrun it, but I you, and join later, perhaps, the ursine dinner.

It’s the table in the desert’s Oasis made for bitching about school board meetings after-hours.

If it ain’t perfect, it ain’t good enough.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I could make you feel good.’
‘No,’ she said, smiling pity. ‘You can’t.’
And he laughed, teeth bared, because he knew it was true.

I am the great big smiling angry God that loves to taste the blood and sorrow of His children with relish tinged with regret. (With relish tinged with regret, with gusto mixed with mustard.)

‘You’re goddamned right I’m drunk.’ says he, working at 2:30 a.m.

Oh dear. I legitimately like pornstep.

Tee hee.

I just want to fall in love again.

There’s little worse than being exhausted having accomplished nothing.

“It’s called ‘fucking’ because it fucks up everything.”