Anicca She

I did

but no longer

For her whom, sought after

The next pretty one down the line

Though charming she may be

And delicious she may seem

I saw fury in her stance (that night)

Her tone, her turn, her walk away

Neglected me, such bitter aftertaste

For this

I did

but no longer

On weighted mood I carried her sting

The sting of the night she turned away

For a week (to this day) I ached

On sidewalk, through sun and streetlight lit

Heavy were the steps

Steps stung by her furious whip

A fixing call to her I try

Silence

Oh pulverizing Silence

Be her reply

A Silence that teased my grave nearby

Better is the sight from bed of dirt 6 feet

Than to be trampled upon

For my suffering solo cry

It's because of this

I did

but no longer

For her whom

I liked

Another pretty one down the line

Now no longer sought after

Knocks & Sleeping

I'm bothered by the likes of you. You who I've come to know as someone of incredible worth. Someone who knocked on my door with a knock knock proposal - armed with your syrupy hurrah - to fight fierce the frown delirium and bring me out of the yellow dread of the doldrums sanctum that sits at the top of the stairs. "I'm only sleeping" I'd say but it's to you only and only you I admit I'm not sleeping at all. Knock Knock.

I'm bothered by the likes of you. For that one night I chose not to Yummy Buffet beside you. You spoke of an ill I committed - "But it's not even like that . . ." I try to sayve trailing - you puffed, then huffed and turned away from me, back to your table, to your food. From out of "sleeping", out of yellow, past that door, down those steps - I'm left alone standing. The girl with the syrupy hurrah gone with only her back to me seen. Another bright yes beyond my door wala na. So it's a return to yellow I step up with the claim "I'm only sleeping."

But even sleep in these past few days is hard to come by.

Because so bothered am I by the likes of you I struggle massive to hide, closed eyes, mind silent, inside slumber and away from hearing your haunting knocks on my door. The past joy of seeing your incredible worth lingers steady. It's a constant that jabs my head mocking, "She's still there." But you're not there. You sit away from me, so far away from me with a back turned, your cheer shown anywhere but here. What's left is the ghost of your incredible worth knocking on my door. Knock Knock. Knock Knock Knock.

Why am I so god damn bothered by the likes of you?

It's because I . . .

The Strokes - Trying Your Luck

"And storefronts rarely change

At least I'm on my own again
Instead of anywhere with you

But to me it's all the same

And I lost my page again
I know this is so rare
But I'll try my luck with you"

Bitter Rhythm Garbage

Dispose of me, the mess I knew myself to be

Since stepped out then to stairs down

I've seen the mess of being drowned

In the scary sea where bitter fish swim accordingly

They fire and they turn

I crush and I burn

Not able to keep steady

With

The splintered rhythm they swim so well

Obviously garbage, unwanted, don't keep me in recycling

In this torrential sea, perpetually drowning

As you all fin bitter but happy

Able to swim with unkempt elegance so delighted

They fire and they spurn

I cry and I hurt

Not able to keep steady

With

The crack cheer they've found for themselves

Allow my return to the waste from whence I came

And crush

And burn

And cry

And hurt

To my own accord

Not

To the drowning throws of these bitter fish

Who swim bitter, feasting on the disposable mess

Pass Me The Calm™

Calm is nice. I could use some Calm™. Put it on like a lotion to the dry worry on my skin. But my skin is flaking. The worry aching. There's a cry beneath there somewhere under the beaten desert landscape, a cry buried by trespassers who unknowingly sow into my already shattered ground bombs that boom hurt BOOM hurt!

It's a casual time for them. The routine of littering behind them waste which becomes my drying dread.

"It's life" one says.

And I've got to settle with it.

Pass me the Calm™.

Go Pho Down

I'm sitting at the table and I can't figure out what I'm trying to figure out. Am I thinking of one thing? If so, where is it? Maybe it's many things I try to tackle and they've decided to mess with me this evening by causing a ruckus in the kids' plastic ball pit where they're loud, annoying, pissing and trying to take each others' eyes out with a high speed red ball pitch to the face. So I'm sitting there staring out into nothing trying to find something. And the tidbits are there. The girl I like. Or don't like? I can't talk what I want to talk. What happened earlier this day. Good man?! My bum status. How I suck.

J Buddha, March and the rest of the group at the table are all cheers while I sometimes look off into the distance thinking abouGUUUUUUUUHHHH!!!!!!

THEY'RE STILL FU-FUH-FUCKIN' AROUND IN THE BALL PIIIITTTTTT!

While the thoughts get swallowed and spat out cycling in the room of that multi-colored netted room of play the look on my face is blank with a touch of woe. I think. I don't know what it looks like. I'm just trying not to bring the others down. I smirk and commit the occasional giggle to humor spoken over bowls of white noodle soup. Yum. For this pho I'm glad. I slop up the pho trying to find peace in the broth with a yearn to drown in it. It's better to be beside beef flank and beef this and beef that - there are 18 beef-based bowls - than to get my head kicked in by a rioting mind.

Yes waitress I'd like bowl #17 to die in.

And a glass of ice water, thank you.

They've decided to roam this sunless time with a trip to the hills. Perhaps the local haunt over at Marsh Road? Whatever the destination I opt to bounce out and not let my gloomy filth wash out onto the others. Byes are exchanged. Handshakes to the dudes. Big ol' hugs to the girls. J Buddha says I'm bringing their time down. It's why I'm leaving, chica. I've got stuff to think about. Or try to find exactly what it is I'm thinking about. I don't know. I go. I hit the gas with Deftones' Knife Party on repeat. Windows open. The driving breeze spills wildly into the car, pushing out shredded near-ideas and stale air. But that blank stare still sits, now savagely pushed on modified with a brutal furrow in the brow. I scream into the road wind. Fuck the night.

FACT #318 ABOUT ME

FACT #318 ABOUT ME: I fantasize about having deep, fulfilling conversations with women.

Given my tender yellow isolation, the prospect of communicating with another is a magnificent horror. To speak with a girl is both treasured and feared for though I do adore the the time in talk I spit the syllables with trepidation, every utterance a calculated hop to not land on and fall through the tricky dummy tile into lava. When I speak to these phantom chicks (looking out into beautiful eyes of empty space) before me there is no lava to fear falling into, nope.

It's just me and the girl talking about how great things are

how great she be

and how it's nice to know her, aye?

Her Name No More?

Vexed am I to want to write the thought of her but promised have I to no longer commit to her another word. By writing these very words yes I see I have broken the vow to sing her name no more.

This burn is gargantuan.

Underlying This Life

People live their lives in ambition. To be known. To be great. To live the day-to-day in comfort. To pay the bill, the rent. To be with the girl sought after. Some ambitions are cruel. Blessed. Shallow. Or deep. They live their life in ambition knowing at ambition's inevitable end is death. It is hung over their head as a very much true, unavoidable ticking clock: the reminder to do what you can and do it now. So keep your arms outstretched. Live for the best that you can and make the most of this oh-so-glorious gift you've been given.

I

however

live this life with death at my feet.

It is my foundation and as such is my ultimate "ambition" - that return to the nothing from where I came. Where others live to see the next day, I break knowing I have awoken yet again. The futility of the day-to-day makes no man honorable - it sits him in the corner with a Dunce Cap. You can fuck all the greatest achievements medaled, remembered, worshipped, revered and blort it into the toilet as the never-child. Why? Because man's time is finite. At the end of the end of the end - nothing will be remembered. No one will be remembered for their fantastic ambitions.

No matter how far I reach

there is only death at my feet.

Of a Record Keeper

Since Sunday my computer has been sitting out. Faulty charger. That's twice. Though I burn creative it is kept achingly cool by the lack of a record keeper. I am sullen with the realization that I can't commit to concrete the thoughts that still run in my head. Computer down, know it. Computer down.

I Walk Around This Life Frightened

I walk around this life frightened

Absolutely frightened

Of the things I put forth and

don't receive in kind return

Of the sweet girl for whom I hurrah'd

But answered back with a nuh-uh!!

Of the eyes open when I wake

Seeing another god damn day

Of committing an act in innocence

But am seen as a complete terrorist

Of uncomfortably wearing a chipper mood

So as not to distress the party

Of looking in the mirror, horrified

by the broken, ugly mess before me

Of checking the wallet embarrassingly

For cash I do not have (but plenty of fucking coins)

Of wearing what I wear but knowing full well

You can't hide living 300 pound shit

Of being called out by someone

"Yes, you are a worthless bum"

Of not yet having shot myself

With the revolver in the closet

Of not being the success that my friends are

Yes, yes so successful they are

Of crying the apparent woe

When truth is I just suck

Of wasting time typing words

I foolishly think will live beyond me

I walk around this life frightened

Absolutely frightened

I am absolutely frightened

Flea Market Finds 071411

Capitol Drive-In Flea Market

[description from top to bottom]

1. The greatest plush toy to be found on those lots this day MUAHAHHAH! Believe it! Its The Muppets' one and only wildman drummer extroardinaire! It's Animal!!! "WO-MAN! WO-MAN! WO-MAN!! . . ." ;D =P

2. A sleek Race Car that looks to be the fastest thing on the planet!! Woohoo! It was found "3 for a dollar" with . . .

3. Two 50 cent Ties, yehey. =)

4. And a *Slim Zippo for those occasions when a pretty bird is feeling smokey. "Anybody got a lighter?" Yes. Yes I do, good-looking. =P Gee, heh heh.

[*note: If you're looking for a lighter at Capitol Flea, look for Luigi with the Zippo display cases. Cool cat with great enthusiasm for what he sells. Awesome.]

Parachute Girl [performance video]

Parachute Girl

There you go, there you go, there you go girl

Fall again

To the boy, to the boy, to the boy

You so wanted

So you jumped, yeah ya jumped, yeah ya jumped

Yeah from heaven

To a boy, to a boy, to a boy

Below wanted

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There ya go, there ya go, there ya go girl

Fall prepared

Don't ya fall, don't ya fall, don't ya fall

Hard in despair

See ya float, see ya float, see ya float

Down yeah so fair

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute girl

Come with care

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There's no need to

Fall hard for me

Come down girl, yeah it's safe see?

Land in my embrace

'Cause I'll be here, yes I'll be here

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute girl

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute girl

Stunning Brain Tumor [performance video]

Stunning Brain Tumor

Can't shake this darn thing off

Look

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

To my detriment

How did I come across?

Now

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

But you don't belong

To me (No)

Stuck in my mind

You won't leave my mind

I think that I might

Have a tumor

And I'll fuckin' die

Should you stay in mind

Why did you have to be

So stunning?

I'd rather have you not

But

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

El Scorcho I hum

I'd rather you be gone

Ugh

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

Fuckin' hell what's wrong

With me?

Stuck in my mind

You won't leave my mind

I think that I might

Have a tumor

And I'll fuckin' die

Should you stay in mind

Why did you have to be

So stunning?

Be so stunning?

Be so stunning?

Be so stunning?

You're so lovely

Oh Modern Lovely

Modern Lovely [performance video]

Modern Lovely

Still thinking of you

Kind all kind in all 5 feet of you

How can humble take so

Much space in my typically tumbling mind

And there you stand so steady

Calming my typically tumbling mind

Oh what a find!

Hey!

Oh what a find!

Hey!

You're a treasure of the age

A wondrous treasure of the age

The modern lovely of the day

You're such a marvel

Look up to the awe that is 10 feet of you

Monument spiff articulation

Oh so you CoD and be cappin' those fools?

But you don't do DiVinyls?

Yup that's mindfucking adorable

Oh what a find!

Hey!

Oh what a find!

Hey!

You're a treasure of the age

A wondrous treasure of the age

The modern lovely of the day

When I wander off you call my name

Yes it's joy to hear you call my name

You're a treasure of the age

A wondrous treasure of the age

The modern lovely of the day

The modern lovely of the day

The modern lovely of the day

The Retreat Addressed

The following is a reply to March regarding the status of a former admire:

I mentioned J Buddha because I thought your initial "Justin!!!!!!" holler was for a call about her.

Yeahp, I've stopped admiring Modern Lovely. It's emotionally better for me to keep my heart close than to leave it dangling out for someone to Knock-Out! brutally like a heavyweight boxer. I never did try to talk to her. Heh heh. Not properly - I don't know how to "talk to a girl." Hah. I'll continue to do what I've been doing now and roll on with the friendly kindness to Modern Lovely; it won't be any different. I just won't be thinking of her fondly as I once did.

No more poems.

No more songs.

No more "Modern Lovely" in the tender light where she was once seen.

The spot is empty now again.

Whoa, I haven't felt that affectionate about a girl within close proximity for years. (A partial reason to why she's been named the Modern Lovely.) Oh well. Hah.

Went to Eastridge, bought a book I've been meaning to get for a few weeks now at Barnes & Noble. Looked at a few chicks to help my mind get out of Modern Lovely mode. Seeing the pretty ones helped.

How have you been? And Buddha? When did you last chat with our sister?

~LL

FACT #856 ABOUT ME

FACT #856 ABOUT ME: I am attracted to women who want nothing to do with me

These past few years I have come to know something I did not know during the time of first crush. What is this realization? All I know is to be alone and to ache lonesome. When the remedy is searched for, what returns is my affections crumpled up like notebook paper and thrown back at me. The routine of my one-sided affairs is something I am all too familiar with. The ouch, guaranteed. With such a cycle on "Repeat" for the length of decade+ I've grown masochistically fond of that guarantee. Why? Because all I know is to be alone and to ache lonesome. Gimme some more! Gimme some more! That girl can cut, 'tis she I adore!!

For Naught I Have Adored

For naught I have adored

This girl, this girl who shook the world

And seeing that fascinating sight

I committed many a shapely word

For that, dear girl I apologize

Knowing now I know

It is something she wanted not

so for naught I have adored

aside from the shapely committed word

now etched in eternity

oh she

oh fascinating sight

from here written, to future years

kept certain, relevant

relevant as in these very days

she shook the world

and unknowingly shook me

grabbing a hold of my creative burn

eternalizing her worth

For that, dear girl I apologize

But for naught I have adored

yeah for naught I have adored

If You Don't Like Me Now Then You Never Will

If you don't like me now then you never will

For I cherished you day 1

Wrote your song day 2-3

Wrote verse and lyric for weeks, chorus yes hear it

And during all that, of you dearly am thinking

of the Whoa that is you Modern Lovely

If you don't like me now then you never will

Since cherish first seen in that photo booth

And spoke and heard of the beauty of you

How your lips uttered so fine

How your hips grooved humble

Should have noticed how your eyes never saw mine

If you don't like me now then you never will

Do we hook up? You sat replied to me standing

"No no, I'm not really looking"

But within the week you are gushing

in arms of Blanc you so wanted

58 miles, 1 hour 9 minutes away

If you don't like me now then you never will

What

am

I

doing?

Because you never will

No, you never ever will

Though Baudelaire's Motley Fool I am

This I know, I pray, oh Venus I chant . . .

If you don't like me now then you never will

Ahshit Adagio

Given the factors, I realize the ahshit possibility of something. Something that knocks a tower crooked. Only the coming months will tell if what I see might actually be born. I googled it and the factors are there apparent, true and phantom burning hammer-breaking an admire.

Yeah it's that real.

'Cause I hate kids.

So no.

But we'll see . . .

give it 9

ahshit.

FACT #331 ABOUT ME

FACT #331 ABOUT ME: I am not an "Alpha Male"

I am reminded of this every time I see some gruff dude with a chick in his arms, chest perpetually puffed out with a bastard smug smile on his face.

Xxplosive Possibility

"Hello lady. My name is Justin Fernandez. Oh you like what I'm wearing? You know I make it do what it do. Oh the pimp cane? That's for regulation purposes and hopefully I need not use it on you, darling. You are . . . a nice girl, right?"

[This is what I'd say if my public social confidence equaled the swagger I have typing away word after word after word after . . .]

Yowza. hah . . .

Woe of the Whoa

Close my eyes into the hush of mind's night

Close my mind away from the Whoa of day mind's time

For during mind's time stands towering

The Might

that is the Whoa of the wakeful mind

and crush I do

for the Whoa that isn't mine

So

Woe is the Whoa?

Yeah

But what a Woe this Whoa be!

So much so that she lingers

Yes, the paramount beauty

Look I do but look is all I do

With the open eyes of a thirsting mind

Though I know that Whoa will never be mine

So away from Woe

I

Close my eyes into the hush of mind's night

Close my mind away from the Woe of day mind's time

But when I wake

Darn

that crush still sits in towering shade of

The Might

That is the Woe of the Whoa of the awake mind

Parachute Girl

Parachute Girl

There you go, there you go, there you go girl

Fall again

To the boy, to the boy, to the boy

You so wanted

So you jumped, so ya jumped, so ya jumped

Yeah from heaven

To a boy, to a boy, to a boy

Below wanted

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There ya go, there ya go, there ya go girl

Fall prepared

Don't ya fall, don't ya fall, don't ya fall

Hard in despair

See ya float, see ya float, see ya float

Down yeah so fair

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute Girl

Come with care

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There's no need to

Fall hard for me

Come down girl, yes it's safe see?

Land in my embrace

'Cause I'll be here, yeah I'll be here

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute Girl

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute Girl

The Two That Breaks

And I've seen the maladjusted

end up with

the maladjusted

Rolling fruit high

in each other's

magnificent distress

Cripple Tango

The half-steps jolt

Juh-duh!

To the delighted dismay

of shattered hands shattering

The pair, they break on

happy

yeah

Phoenix - If I Ever Feel Better

If I ever feel better
Remind me to spend some good time with you
You can give me your number
When it's all over I'll let you know

Horror in the Morning Seen

Horror living, it looks back with dread

and I look at it not knowing what it is

Disgusted, I throw in instinct

and it throws back in same instance

the disgust thrown at it

It is a fear, it is a pain

It is a most offensive character

Vile in all its years breathing

This horror living looks back

Crowned Ignoble

through filth, spots of corrupted shine shine

pricking mine eyes with a

devious, delirious, pretentious prick

of a labyrinthine gold, jewel-encrusted smile

I cringe aching upon view of

the horror of this morning, this horror

looked upon with city block-wide unease

What is this terrifying, skyscraping monstrosity?

This morning

I look in the mirror

All I see

is me

Adore: A Detachable Commitment

The songs I sing. The words I write. I sing & write with the sweetest of intent. The creative gush goes out on dishes of glimmering silver as candied delights ready to be consumed by whom it may concern. The girl written doesn't know - naturally - but others do, yayo. They know her to be a most wonderful being.

Despite my haughty stance as stated in Depart from Admire, the seed has been buried and it checks me, kicks me, teases me to put forth more thoughts of cherish. Another lyric. Another verse. It has to go somewhere, aye? To lock a seed from growing is far more straining then to let it grow withered.

And I boom full what you see and hear for she truly is a person of spectacular worth, don't cha know?

However.

I plug into this admire, guarded. Through quadruple-shielded cable is sent that sweet, sweet intent. Out to that platinum-plated super transference 1/4" jack is a sound heard out Whoa. 'Cause she is the Whoa, aye? And if and when Modern Lovely discovers this output from seeing the sight that is tender she and she runs far, far away OR returns with apathy personified . . .

then I'll simply plug out.

I wrote what I wrote. I sang what I sang. It'll just be there. That sweet intent. Meant for someone Whoa.

But no. Heh. =P

It's garbage, aye?

It's a detachable commitment.

(I refuse to set up for heartbreak, dummy. Hah.)

Pas Blanc

Here, here these dirt strands

are just what is merely seen

Though not the blonde perfection

that you so dearly seek

They fall just the same, top my mind

See it wave hello

But noticed not, overtaken

by those deemed oh so fairer

I'm just me

I'm not my hair

Yeah

Here I stand, surface sun eaten

is just what is merely seen

Though not the paler purity

that you so dearly seek

It covers heart just the same

See it wave hello

But it is not noticed, looks go

to that deemed oh so fairer

I'm just me

I'm not my skin

Yeah

I know I'm not a fair boy

But with this black hair

and this brown skin

I

can

make you smile, just the same

Oh Jazelle

I'm just me

I'm not what you might see

Yeah

Sympathy for the Drunk?

Wednesday, July 29, 2011

Evening

"You're making me angry, Clown!"

Through the white wooden slab marking the closed doorknobbed entry to the yellow room, I sit hearing the verbal ruckus of The Brother Younger directed toward someone less-than-sober. Heavy steps match doors swung with just as much weight, the air pushed violently acting as palpable wind away from the emotional turbulence.

"I have a long drive, Clown! I don't need this right now!!"

Stomp, stomp, stomp. The door dunks shut with a gah-duh!!

I look out the window and visibly see the frustration on the TJ's shoulders. With a sweater half-put on I make my way down the stairs and out to the driveway. The summer evening is bright. The sun far from horizon east. Under world light TJ's jagged exit vrooms. "Dude?" I ask concerned. "He keeps repeating himself. I set it up already and he keeps asking. 'I set it up.' He asks again. 'I set it up.' He asks again! I'm tired of this, I gotta go!'" TJ makes the drive out, heading to SoCal to sell product at the ComicCon with his fellow drift buddy Bravo. "Be safe, have fun. Just pay no mind to the idiot" being my reply to his departure.

In the kitchen sits the Drunken Clown. He sits as king at court as the ruler of a kingdom of empty aluminum cans that scatter the house. The computer room. The backyard. The garage. The playroom. Empty cans take a residence in each. DC sees my entry, immediately getting into a tirade about how all he did in perfect form was ask to do a favor and how in return he got gruff from TJ.

I return "Yeah but 20 times. Multiple times?"

"Twenteee NoooWhat?!" rolls out in stupid-water tainted breath.

"You might as well have."

"Ehhh shiettt Ican do it mighhself if I wanted to learn to." With gusto these words are said. I've heard them before and question him there, "Why don't you just do it then?" "Ehhhh shiettt," he replies with a dismissive wave of the hand, "whydoessss hehaf to get maadd? O?"

"Because you told him multiple times. It probably makes him feel stupid."

"Whaaaatnoooo?? Thass boolshettt. Iaskheem to doIT and juss DOit!! Y-gettang gree?!? O?"

"Because you keep repeating yourself. Because you're drunk." Boom goes the truth.

"Ooahhheere we go again! It's alwaaysme!! I'mmtha prahblehm againn!"

"Look I don't want to hear your "I'm the bad guy" bullshit again. You've been saying that shit for years and you know why you're the bad guy? Because you drink you fucking idiot." Now choked with the same frustration that TJ drove off with I step up to the kitchen beside his royal drunkenness and say "'Cause it tastes good huh? You like that huh? That's your medicine?!" I grab the Keystone Light and force his gamot to his lips, his yellow eyes bulge, slithering red veins pop out ready to strike. He stumble stands up (somehow slyly setting his precious can on the table) as if ready for a fight. In defense I rage with a shout "WHAT?? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?!! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?!!?" At this point I'm up ready to knock the fucker out, kick his half-cripple arthritic legs from under him and make a trampled mess on the kitchen tile in tints of a smashed alcoholic. Drunken Clown knows this. The threat is there. He backs off. "Ayewee don't haftoDo this, hah?" Again, I shout with continued rage "But that's what you like RIGHT?! It fucking tastes good right?!" I grab the beer can off the table. I drink the filth, looking at the Clown. With the the stupid water in mouth I mumble out the words "it tastes good" then . . .

spit his awful tasting beer right in his FACE.

"Sarap no? Sarap? It tastes good, huh? You like that?!" There was no way I was swallowing the bitter ick so out it went, right back to its devoted purchaser, follower, ever-faithful. "Sarap diba?" I ask again mockingly as he dejectedly walks away, drenched in what is so dear to such a Clown.

I go back to the yellow room.

Drunken Clown gets more beers from the garage refrigerator and drunk dials anybody who'll listen to him about being spat-on humiliated by someone sober. Relatives. Enablers. "Nahh, you're not an alcoholic" they pat his back through the Skype that TJ set up 20 times. I'm called down hours later that night and in an even more drunken state (level 12) he tries a stinger by saying "Heyyydothat toMee when I'mdeadhah?"

"I'm not even gonna be at your funeral" I reply in an instant, "I've got better things to do."

Fucker.

Sometime before midnight. A body crashes to the floor. Dahdoomp!! A 20-second groan. A little bit more.

Fucker.

Leave that Drunken Clown where he lies. Arthritis and an already (while sober) unstable walk isn't cured by your gamot, idiot. And when the fucker dies I'll be similarly apathetic. Go on and drink to that.

Loner Bastard

Photograph taken by J Buddha. Shopped by Lacking.