don’t ever expect to be justified. you will be shut down. you will be shut down.
we are all in our own experience. and there’s no way around it.
it’s just each to his own in this for this about this within this.
and while D.F.W. already said it in eloquence, I can’t help but break a piece down:
the system you run on is the one you wish you could trade. too tired of the default when everyone is an individual
get to to know your own. hack your own. preference your own. make it so fucking marvelous it looks like you run on nuts leeched in a diaper of exactly. just do your cunt a favor and make everything your own.
that doesn’t mean label. it could mean experience.
but it means transitioning from tunnel to outside of yourself. and it’s not possible everyday. it never is.
what’s possible are reminders. there’s a reason I keep kickin’. I’m good at notes. I know how
to tell myself the right things when I need to. I’ve been where nobody needs to. you never wanna
be where I’ve been. you never wanna be where you’re nearly dead by you’re own hands.
and you don’t wanna stay in a facility. facilities. hospitals. detoxes. rehabs. wards. anything. you don’t
want it. and to think back then it was asylums. I’m in grief just thinking about it. but that was then. this is now.
you wanna do proper work and have an output coz I’m not sure what else there is aside from our others.
so run your operating system, no matter how shitty it is, if it runs in fucking MS-DOS 1982 it’s got everything it needs.
pull up anything that allows to enter text. enter these words here:
if you’ve got no computer, find a typewriter. if you’ve not got that, resort to paper and pen.
print and carry on you at all times.
you’d be surprised what you can do with those two words.
I need a taxi. I dunno. I gotta get somewhere. I gotta get to places that don’t matter and don’t try. Places that just are. Places, man. I need anyone who thinks they’re an engine. That way I’m carried into the slaughter that is laughter when one experiences the depth of the blood- warm sun.
tears from the moon confess their sorry frost. it’s a lonely rock, they say. it wears the face of tranquillity, and yet, it is iced in the heart. for no one has been to touch it for so long. and it feels only to be gazed upon as your sideshow oddity.
people gimme a look. it’s a certain one. and I know what it is. they wanna tell me things, some things; how a life might mean to mine, and how it looks apart from eyes. and I say, stranger, it takes a feeler to feel one. your intuition’s in all the right places. so I’ll hear you out. a free story is my kinda love affair. and it’s always when I begin to walk away, when I think it’s over, eh, you swing some more end to the human condition. and I think, damn, you are, in this moment in time, the pinpoint persuasion – sayin’ it. say on, coz I haven’t had dinner but I wanna talk it out in winter weather on your cigarette break. let’s be hungry. we’re only one bite in. tell me, stranger. tell me hopes and dreams. we get along out of that look in our eyes. I walk away and it’s always thanks. but don’t bother. my direction has been narrowed down. I know we’ll figure out the angles. sitting up all night after a shift, after an outburst, after a warm meal. we’ll figure it out. see you somewhere. see you.
let them talk. forever, disaster, disgust. they equate the same to me. and should I ask you out in such a world? all I need is a line to kill it. you’re not that type. no, you are the line. and when I think of disaster it better be what we talk of. now, disastrous, but always. that’s what equates to us. bad poetry subsides beneath. the earth and sun are fucked. we don’t give. shit. a fucking one. fuck me. that’s given. so is pain. say goodbye to me one more time. that’s how I like you. see you again. say goodbye. standing on now. it’s just this and you will. forever rains. our forever reigns.
some of the best people I’ve met have come from making the wrong decisions – mine to meet them, theirs to be great. they inspire and encourage and if I choose to go missing or into hiding, they care or accept me back. and I do the same for them. and while doing the shit thing isn’t admirable, it doesn’t make it wrong. it still leads to promise. it can still carry its own. those who act like it doesn’t haven’t lived. it’s not failure, it’s fucking up. it’s getting fucked up and getting out there and finding something holy in a land where nothing quite is. I’ve been places and I can tell when hobo wisdom means something and it’s not just drunken despair. I can tell when the drugs are ready, in their face, or selling out their lives. and I’ll tell them. they’ll tell me. and I have a sense about people that do not live up to the gold rush they think they are. and I go on about people that do not matter. they do not matter to me. they were my bad decisions. they are important, important to somebody, thankfully, now. coz I can only give one at a time. and I’m fallen for so many. the worst mistake to make is not to make any. the worst mistake, forgetting where people grow.
I told this girl at the bar how she smelled good and she kept talking and my eyes were on the white that was her teeth and the skin around them being white and you bought this shot for me and me being me has gotta ask why but she keeps talking and I guess we could go to your place but I’ll stick around and kill whatever money is in my pocket coz the bartender’s gotta work and I gotta feel fine to the worst.