So you wonder how it happened. You want me to tell you, enlighten, acquiesce to your primal need to know and you believe me the one to do it. I regretfully inform you that I have retired from the initiative induced lay it on-er. There is help a plenty bursting at the proverbial seams, waiting in a self induced exile you have banished it to along with other, now foreign concepts and breath, like "outside", "kindness", relieving one's own burden by yoking up to another's. These are all past times to which would cure what's ailing you, however easier, shinier, faster is a much more suitable weapon of mass distraction and I understand but will not support. False advertise one more compliant and see how fast I run from you. Stagnation kills, oscillation ensures a lengthy and definitive shrug, ambulance will reinstate a right form with vigor like no other. I am not the one to do it, or assist, but I sure hope you get squared away.....your commercialized death is putting a damper on my breakfast.

It's an amazing feat when the thing outside comes into play, the thing that resides around and wants to go within, but that self defeating or possibly external force encapsulates this sentiment into a palpable, enigmatic energy that can transport the interchangeable into something of value on a higher plane. Welcome to life without expectations, degrees of spiritual mutilation and endless opportunities for moving forward in a real way. This is always here, this decision to make, this chance to make good on making the best out of what you have laying lament, that only you have. Incredible psychic feats being displayed by a cohesive unit of harmony, common sense and an acute awareness of one's surroundings. All of these encompass the answer you've been looking for, at best a solid direction in which to propel your intentions forward in a way that is satisfying to you and quite frankly, that's all that matters. Lesson? Stop seeking out others to fulfill your needs when you have all the elements for that peace within yourself. Get your shit together.

How you came to be so.........

All the times that integrity was playing a key role in my character, you know, building it, molding, shifting and shaping, yours just seem to be faltering and failing miserably. In no other posture than one of humility I say that with a force of a collective conscious stampede. Never knew that in this whole massive and immense time frame we had been given, that this is what one, (one being more specifically you)would do with it. Let it skate on the thinnest of ice until someone else felt empathetic to your contrived and supposed plight and make it essentially, better for you. Along with wiping your nose and ass, respectively, and giving you the obligatory pep talk. Why wouldn't one want to get better on their own accord, of course with direction from others, but not solely allowing a convalescent footnote to be added to every decision. That's you. Withering, dying, allowing, cheating and not living. I never expected more from you, however, I expected and maybe that was the problem.

There is a golden thread that was cast that I wasn't able to catch. Maybe I m late, maybe I didn't know, maybe it wasn't meant for me, just to see, just to peep it for a quantum moment and then abandon the notion. The notion that I know, I know that you don't want to know and there's nothing I can do to remedy the static stratosphere that has been put into motion from the not quite the beginning, but more unfortunately, rather recently. There are too many hushes, too many carefully thought out "next" steps. Those steps are always seemingly perpetrated by media suckling soldiers that serve in the worst state of devastation I can fathom in this world, or any other. That golden thread is a cast off, a throw away, a diversion for the awake to take a stab, uninterrupted immersion into a better chasm of conscious knowing and sharing in that with others that are like minded and have made their way off the grid, on the grid, in silence proper, in plain sight, breaking it off telepathically to the other one who knows. More than you know who knows. There's a sphere filled with all of the collective energy of the like minded spitting out connection threads and that's why I know you on another plain than this one that seems so artificial and small. I'll find you and always put the light on for you to find me. Make no mistake, I m in for the long haul, with you, you and you and NOT "you." It's not that long of a way to go, so keep trucking. I got needles for that golden thread and know exactly where to house it. Hold on not for dear life, but to awake to the one that sits right beyond you in form reach and go a little further to that astral one......that's where I am; I got you.

Quit Hiding.

There are few things that jazz me more than “penny proverbs”, and the like; slogans that people dished out on their own volition by way of passive aggressive delivery and snide burnt toast looks to accompany said dig. Now, I’m all for digs, however at the expense of wit, no ma’am. It went beyond the see a penny pick it up manusha, but to encapsulate what these fuckers really were getting at it was the prize. Far too often, normal everyday folk are looking to make it retail Christmas time in a way unbeknownst to the poor souls it ultimately affects, however, I have a meaning in store……(as if you didn’t know that.) Before we get into it, I hope I have cushioned you sufficiently for you to become and remain exposed for the next however it may take for you read this. Hunker down friend. The thing about self-righteous ginger is this, contrary to popular belief, said ranger’s birthday is in fact in the spring, that’s one. Two, this very holiday that Christians especially tend to hold near and dear find it the precise time to dole out douchbaggery in droves and assimilate in the nearest Mall and have at these helpless low self-esteem ridden kids to pump than more than full of unstable mental hygiene, but their own nads as well; moving onto Universal consciousness as we know it. Upon meeting someone, anyone, random elderly at grocery store, fellow nerd in line at some Comicon or what have you, one tends to ignore their first response, the one that guides you into the place you want to be and begs you out of the ones you choose anyway. People ignore this internal light more often than not for many reasons but the main and really the root of all the other ones is fear. Fear of the entire obvious pamphlet esque obligiatories but mostly, because if someone can really see into our soul and be the same there is no mystery into the drama we wish to create, hence making for a societal norm of a “boring life.” Why is this? We all know it, we certainly know we all do it and here’ some gravy, when one doesn’t participate in the exchange in the expected the way, the other person will literally flee before you. It will begin internally and then the excuse of why they have to go here or there will manifest; incredible to watch, sad to take in and empowering when it’s you causing the fleeing. Ignoring the thing that creates and breathes life into the things you want to do does the same job on a daily basis with everything else, there’s just no moxy behind it hence the motions seemingly turn into exactly that, motions; completely devoid of real flow and life force that is willing and waiting to be utilized as to attract universal positivity and or whatever opportunities for growth there may be. I used to run from this for the exact reasons or excuses rather that I am stating now. However, upon welcoming these unseen and dare I say mystical nuances, absolute magic happens along with making beauty an everyday occurrence as per a mind being opened till the point of uncomfortability, turned out again and now it’s on. I understand, you think I have went around the bend, and anything is a possibility, be that as it may, I have not only experience and examples, but evidence of our overall denial of all things intangible for the purpose of explaining why this world dominated denial takes place at all with my own flavor I have nipping at its heels tucked away…..but not too far. It starts at home: no you can’t wear that…yeah well, why? Suppose they laugh, suppose the neighbors foul you for letting your kid dress like an epileptic fireman ballerina going to the recycling center, then what? What necessarily does that equate to in the big picture? Your ego and the fear attached to it. It has felt as though it has taken me lifetimes to assess and make good on being myself, really myself, sans all innuendos that always want you to pay homage to them in this world that demands you be a certain way even if that way IS being different, there are niches for that as well. It comes down to what you and what the action you take exhibits as well one’s reactions to that action. More to come, but I don’t want to wear you out with a long winded spell about quantum psychic phenomenon that you redirect on the daily out of what this fuckface next to you may think. Stay golden and off the fence. -H

Part 2.

Waiting in the cold, on a platform within in a platform on high, for the next junk train coming down every tunnel; that same tunnel that brought the works that encapsulated a life that may or may have not been hers at some point, but most likely not. A time when a smooth shuffle was appreciated, even sought after, now a steady gate to keep up pace with you and yours may be all that’s necessary, we’ll see, won’t we? She always got shushed and mauled from the upper cloud of Argentinean fog that was her maker; this time was no different, however Shane looked more devout than she could ever remember, but that’s how it is with little boys and their Mothers, even when that little boy isn’t little or technically a man, young, but a man nonetheless. The Number 2 screeched to a low lulling halt and she shoved us on, rubbing her nose the way junk makes you do. Proper attention was paid by all male patrons as to be expected, even when she was in her dog days, she still had it. No denying the power that had my Dad falling out ted to take care of her…..in all of those ways, even the modest and decent ones, in spite of themselves. She was used to these kinds of displays, unhealthy as they were; it was the only pride she could cultivate for the 5’7 demented pile in front of her. Some would think it sad she supposed……not finishing on purpose; to no other’s understanding of the situation was she beholding to anyone. One of her scabs started to bleed as she picked nervously at it; she stared at the maternal vessel and wondered how it all went down like this, for so long, so normally. Once in a while it didn’t matter, but here in front of these people all wanting a visual piece, it mattered. Shane seemed to automatically go into Lance a Lot mode and began to exhibit symptoms of a son protecting his ailing Mother’s honor, problematic for him seeing how as that if ever, had never been in place. She on the other hand knew better. She made contact with the floor and became enthralled with the idea of different colored gum making a Rorschach of sorts all over the subway floor. The only approach to be taken in this situation was the one she assumed, less everything that way: attention, stares, shame, guilt and responsibility to the life the other she had chosen. She felt Shane burning into her in an almost kinetic rally to arms for their shared vessel that he would always know as “Mom” and she would always regret coming through that passage at all. She would later always be the reason for her writing at 4:30AM and beginning habits that she had previously put to rest but now they resurfaced in a feeble attempt to cope better with it than say…. heroin. The exhale is the hardest at that time of day you know, heavy pulsing beat of a heart that makes you want to sleep like normal people, however the experience won’t let you and with no outlet to forget, (as per your lover is sleeping so as to not parlay one’s sexual wants into reality, just you and the experience) these are the moments they claim you grow from and through, and maybe; too soon to tell isn’t it? Up the stairs into the wet shiny New York night can be exhilarating or the longest plank to be known, depending on where and what you are hailing from and heading to. In this case, the plank was a safe bet, the only one to be exact, they all knew it. She headed east on 2nd herding her spawn like McDonald’s soon to be vitals and tried to keep the puke where it sat and not where it wanted to express to, she did an alright job of it considering; better luck next time, yeah? A doorway can hold solace, anxiety and or a mirror of things that were or have already came to be, an experience that calls and wasn’t learned and so here we are again; junk is that way always. We were at the door, the one that presented the latter. She entered and gave us each a set of works and a look to boot along with the other shit we were about to give the same fate. As I gave Shane the look, he refused my mental plea and put his pussy on the back burner and I was left with a still torn and gaping one, admitting mine and he became my plus 1. The smell of burning everything made its way up my nose and I knew the rest would make its way up the rest of me with my spoon falling out. She was already there, Shane prepared and I became the wolf and my Grandma’s spirit sat with me and protected me in the lair. Belt off and so was I, wish it was Thursday of next year……sometimes all you have is the wish of future unbeknownst to you that may be something of validity if you believe in things like that…..or maybe it’s just a way to get through the unspeakable, either way it was a fucking Friday and there was no changing that.

I m Trying.

A shadow that doesn’t remember its foresworn duty You forgot to distribute among the masses of secrets you promised, yet its ok… Ok for that wave to lift up and over the expectations of what you claim to be beholding to me I know a hushed existence is an existence all the same and I shouldn’t complain, I know I shouldn’t…..but I can’t help wanting more than what they show, what you show, what is presented by a haze that almost has form.. I don’t expect that you’ll expect me to stay the same, but the beauty is that I will…..and you won’t. ….The best outcome for this late, late train.. I hope to see you out more than a window but maybe in the day to day, the day to day that make up a life with you With me With the matter that takes up important space and holds its weight along with my breath on every word Hanging On your lips. I’m hoping for a same exactness in a spindle of an awakening that opens a door we can both fit through….you’re the only one I see You’re the only one who sees me….in the dark, in the light in the rainy day that I couldn’t see two feet in front of me and here we are Here we are in the In the space of a series of moments written before we came to be Before I knew your smell I hope I stay the same in the middle of it all I hope you are equipped Can only imagine that you are, have to be, were inducted into the safe haven that is the caretaker apparatus that binds me to you and you to us and us to all of it. I’m awake, going, going, going, going…. they all touch me They all sweep past the idea of me I’m here for a moment….you pull for me, act accordingly to draw me into the blue, that home filled blue, I want to try. I want to stay. You make me want to stay………….finally. Whiplash on my face equates to a past relived not on my own volition, but an autopilot unwanted….you ask it to take its leave, I rest. Rest a spell for you to enter…… an exhale worth making mention of suits me in a way I was told impossible Unattainable For a torn little girl……she maybe alone for a bit May be alone on her own, who knows who’s coming, mental hygiene will be in better shape this time I‘ll make sure of it. So afraid that embrace is fleeting, but know it’s not, wishing not to wish, afraid to feel you forever, afraid not to…making it not cold, exhale, exhale just to breathe you in This place This place So foreign, so different, so what I want to be used to I hear you, I hear you, it’s in the works baby, I promise….. I’m trying.

Way Back When

I knew you way back when, before wet behind the ear was something to say, when your hop scotch game wasn’t an idea you ever thought of having for longer than the 30 seconds it was suggested. Can’t help but stay golden, all the time, every day. You may have seen better times but can’t say that you have and actually had any, but me and mine?; now been seeing em, living em in this hard cold concrete snow globe left to rat race devices divided into unwanted sectors will have to constitute for better times, or else. I stabbed you just a little bit, but I didn’t mean you any harm, just the ones who had taken what I didn’t know anyone wanted and never gave it back to me after they took it or told me how to get it back and I thought you were doing the same……it was so dark, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t see you coming, I never see em coming. I knew you way back, Jesus Weenie back, fighting off the “hugger” back, lying on your back for another reprieve….I’m staying Golden, staying away from a gray hue with any luck, from your back work. I didn’t mean to cut you…..I said I was sorry and I mean it much…a whole bunch, why don’t I make it up to you by letting you split a bag with me…..how’d that be darling? I levitate right on down 2nd Ave with a cheese blintz from Odessa’s as an offering to get in, in the first place, making it rain, then making it inside….secret society of junk ropers, feigning to nosh on a polite offering I know they don’t want, but they may share once I tell em, once I tell em she was down with the virus that can’t be shook…..they might give me everything when I tell em who….I knew them way back when and they knew her way back when, back before the open sores, bedtime cautionary tale led to a made for T.V. movie, deep in the depths of a pillow biting whore that use to lie, a little girl that had twins; boy, girl both shiners, both in it…..they knew her way back when…..that’s why they came you know….who would’ve thought they would did what they did, when they did it and to whom…..big sighs, loose thighs, busted lips, premature fake hips, cold shivers way before their time and a “Mommy” who would perpetually drop the eternal dime on a life that never should’ve been given. I’m sorry I robbed you; sorry I couldn’t stop sport fishing through your personal tragedies only to call UNO later in the game when I needed you to do something….learned from the best, the best in the buiz. Better times are never around the bend and never will be, but I love to tell you golden tales, tales of cities that never let you fall and where static fights the funk of a reality that permeates fibers like crack through those ashes you said you would replenish about 45 minutes ago and didn’t. I know you knew me way back when, but I have always been like this, I didn’t deceive you, but you wanted me to, so you would have an out but I didn’t because I didn’t birth you and you know better darling, way better. Pop that cap offa that water and stall em; I’ll be right back (not really) you hear me? Stay Benji, Benzo, baby……silent crosses form a catapult to the golden stay, keeps it at hand not at bay, isn’t that the aim? It is for me, you knew that….. She never promised you anything except the first one: the first breath, the first swallow of nourishment and sure as shit the first hit……that warm hot cider hug from Grandma on Christmas eve after a million chocolate cherries consumed while smelling sage, peppermint and cookies…..thank fuck for that hit. It will get farther and farther away with every practice run, but for now the hunt is good, the chase steady…and you, well you’re easy darling, easy as cherry pie in a sunny window. Remember way back when? Yeah, you’re right……I have always been golden, always this way….there was no purity spawned, only a shredded brace of a spine that could’ve existed if it hadn’t been ripped out the backside by her watchful eye, Shane too, you know……he doesn’t talk about it anymore. Put it to rest with a cylinder scalpel, me too….not enough though. We go way back us three and maybe you if you play your cards right, but due to you being here and all, you most likely did not, savvy? I would love to say it was you, and I will until I’m ready to hold you, but for now I can’t. None of us can. Especially her……not ever her. I followed her you know, right till the end, we didn’t get it though, Lisa did, but not me, not Shane, not Hannah….funny in a Holocaust way, not in the Alanis Morsette way that would put everyone at ease yeah? She set a lot of false standards with that optimistic apple picking pre cum situation, don’t you think? Odd there’s no law suit yet….but way back when……doesn’t apply does it? Strappin it on now seems futile, but what’s another fracture, another abscess, another ripped pre meditated episiotomy….planned by her. Maybe not golden, but merlot red more often than not, around her best…..that’s the best one can hope for just that, just a gas lamp getting close enough to make it wind down, make that throbbing intrusion go down, 6 years old is awful old when participating unwillingly in unwarranted adult activity….. As soon as I miss him, I think of our squirrel….our bloody squirrel….he held my hand, he held my hand until I stopped bleeding out…..he knew me way back when…that’s the difference, I can’t remember when……when I was…..well, you know..

Dependin’ on Where you Hail From

Look at the bubblegum pop right outta that dirty two timing mouth; you said you would come back with the cure, but all you have is a severe case of a chlamydia induced jive jitters; all in the name of saving my poor sick soul, you a bad, hard, scalin, lyin snake that bites hard; Poppin and snappin like a real live mid-western frontier Klan runner; runnin for hills that hold no tar, but an awful lot of gold. One is more important than the other depending on where you hail from and how long it’s been since the last. You gotta a smoke baby? I need a exhale worth making me work for it another day… This sun and tar will make you work a full week’s work for a sweat to get its way and a the cool shade and reprieve of a southern nod isolated to valley in-between a muddy doorway and redemption via a broken down black iron gate that allows you to hide or be seen depending on where you hail from and what your aim is. Making you great is no easy feat but with the assistance of this here junk, I’ll make you look like Tina Turner before Ike with a voice like Ella after Tisket a Tasket with a warm whiskey chasing you down a pink lane followed by a lover you said no to, due to your new love that resides in that bag; both know who you belong to, both know the lengths you will go to, only one presses on…..you know the one baby…exit with me… It’s hard time doing the shuffle waiting for next train to where you know you gotta go, I ve been waiting damn near all day, waiting for that load...I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you, point it over yonder, turn that fan on baby, turn that white noise to black noise and sit a spell under this here tar tent….I love your breath, I love your breath, I love that railroad running down my limb that use to home lifelines, now bloodlines for a tar caravan going southbound…You betcha darling, you betcha I love you, for now I gotta tend to this dirty dying field…..they need breath too, you know….golden hushes run through them fields, you know it like you know I love you in these here shoes, deep in those souls, mine’s been misplaced, so those’ll do sugar, you know they will until…. I’d never leave you out in the cold darling, just leave me be for just a little bit, when it turns again, you come on back in, I ‘d never turn you away baby, just give me a minute to get right with the Lord, in this spoon, this here worshipping Voo Doo ritual turned sacred under the light of a raging sun, full moon and setting on the wind of a memory twilight; sending those harder times into a remission that you can’t baby, you betcha I love you baby, you betcha. It all means something to somebody, depending on where you hail from and what you see, what that eye patch don’t cover, what that rig don’t puncture, at the end of the day it all may be the same scene, but you make all the difference baby, all the difference in the world… I know you saw me up the road up on that porch praying to the almighty in a slick hat and greased practices, I shore do love you though baby, enough…..well enough. Don’t you forget it sugar, a belt can be a tool of salvation, a vessel of the holy word of the pliable feats of jungle cats in the street that tame now, tame down to the junk, I help em baby, you’ll see. Can’t do it without me darling….I shore do love you baby. Depending on where you hail from, they hunt jungle cats and here I am providing a service proper in between the almighty and them dark stalking cats that aim to harm you baby, they aim to harm….I set em down, lay em down….for you baby. Spit my gum out for you baby, spit em all out for you baby, but give me space proper to fight these eels for you and me, jungle cats baby, jungle cats; big ol black panthers, vein seeking tigers, and lions that lie harder than you been hit by me in a sickness storm, I aim to lay em down baby, lay em down. Just blood baby, just blood, I’s born out of it and so were you baby, leave it be, let it go, nature of jungle fights…precious bag of junk holds me in a porch and keeps me; keeps me like you can’t sugar, but I shore do love you baby, love you proper. Get off the floor baby, ain’t nuf room for us both, I expect more from you darling. I expect, that you suspect, that I’m goin now; and depending on where you hail from, you would’ve seen it coming or you just plain vacant….I shore do love you though baby, shore do love you and them hopeful eyes losing their resilience and motion making abilities. You remember me baby; next summer, on the porch, on the blood rise setting sun, I’m tending to the jungle, I’m tending to the rig, tending to the tar fields…….I shore did love you baby, shore did with all my…

Not Yet.

“It’s gonna be alright honey, what’s your name?!” they half yelled in that purported scolding, direct, accusatory manner all attendants in those situations speak at you in as they frantically wheeled me on the dirty green gurney into the salvation ridden, hope filled sterile light of a cold ending. I knew I wouldn’t be gone, wasn’t my time, how I knew that escapes me, however; the demise of demise was and is daunting in the same way you have to continue to live after being diagnosed with HIV; plotting and calculated. Oh what I wouldn’t do for a warm breeze cooling me in a light curtain ocean hushed way, laid out solid on a junk filled cloud of Grandma hugs and promises to quit, but all I had was a stomach full of poison that was on strike from its duty and a charcoal smoothie lurking on the bed stand…..bleak didn’t begin to fucking cover it. I thought of you…..thought of you choking back tears that may or may have not been crocodile, who could tell, maybe me; given the proper apparatuses…you….counting…counting what? How many times the insurance ran out? Attempted suicides: that of your children, that of your wife, that of your unspoken wishes deep within but maybe not so much as to where I couldn’t see them. It would have been everything not to hear a removed Step Imposter say “This is going to be so expensive, how much longer can she keep doing this?” Loving sentiments would have been more opted for…not a beggar so I guess I get no choices. The light of day does not exist when you are basking in the continual glow of a bill paying hovel known as a doppelganger for helping people on their way to here, there, the next and the now. I never fucking pray, not going to start now. Pockets are never deep, not when it comes to these things, hell, no one would want them to be. No daughter of mine, no daughter of mine will have broken veins, fractured jaw, numerous times over, broken everything. It’s a shame, it’s always a shame ain’t it? I ripped the IVs out and went down the hall until it wasn’t blurry anymore and called TJ. He came picked me up and dropped me off at the house. No one was home. Made the call, pulled on an old Misfits shirt, brown jeans that use to pass for black that now barely passed for pants at all, Docs with duct tape holding them sort of together and made the longest 3 block walk to his house to get right with the cards that were dealt her. He opened the door swinging his cock back and forth in a Chinese New Year Dragon manner. She glanced down, opened the door, said congratulations and went upstairs. He had her set up already. She sat on the end of the bed and called out to heaven and it answered in the form of the Lion King and a fresh spoon with blue flowers on the handle. He rambled on about recent exploits and all the other shit insecure boys holler about to make the real object sit up, but she didn’t; she slumped down and asked where his slingshot was. They lobbed his Mother’s eggs into neighboring yards and chain smoked. When the eggs ran out, so did her strength and she bid her dick swinging pal farewell. Back at the temporary shelter, no one was home still. She thought about the baby she had handed away not too long ago and felt that it was wrong that she continued to breathe when part of her was ambulating about completely independent of her. Not right, ever. She wasn’t right either, not after that, even now….At best, she felt the pamphlet way at times and that put a little cut on the travesty, but not nearly enough, not enough to keep her from writing this, yeah? Peanuts only fit in your arm for so long and then they get further and further away, she knew that every day, all day. Was there, is there a quiet time in her life approaching, steady like approaching, approaching proper? She wasn’t sure, but she knew it was different, different in an unstoppable, can’t do shit about it kind of way. Sickness provides ways out sometimes, not every time and certainly not hastily, but eventually it does and this was a teetering precipice of curiosity pregnant with solace laced, incanted surety. This would be the way, this had to be; it was the only green light that had been this blaring in her entire life, well….this and that blue eyed Necromancer….brass tacks were looking more and more inviting. That charcoal seemed far but not nearly as far as her destitution of insanity; look who’s got a bone…..fight me for it and it will be the last you encounter. Trays up cunt.

Could be a Poodle or a Puerto Rican

As every flake fell to the ground, so did her low expectations of what life had previously feigned to provide, dare she say, “offer.” It would be Spring soon and she knew the winds would change along with motives, agendas and ambitions, not just others, but her own as well. All she could mantra was “it’s about fucking time.” A long hard line had been drawn for a long time, from the lower east side all the way to Central America, across Europe and back to the U.S. this junk inspired runaway had fit the bill and set the bar for a lifetime of drunk spins that would only calm when the cylinder window was bubble free. No more, no more of that brown powder promise or the stripper pimp relationship it held over her head. It dawned on her as she watched the snow in the street light that had become her favorite sense of comfort when at a certain juncture, in a certain place, with a certain human being that this warm envelopment may have a shelf life longer than she previously had anticipated and that that very unconscious overall sentiment may just be the real fucking deal, nothing made her more….everything; scared, elated, sick, grateful, thankful, wary, thoughtful, hopeful or set; in every sense of the word. The sarcasm that had carried her and provided a dental dam of sorts with the wrongs, rights, greasers and socies, had also became a little engrained in her as the stuff her character was compiled of, none of which she wanted to rid herself of, however one human being appreciated it and she was amazed. As she sat in her truck with this Necromancer, she began to laugh and giggle like a 6 year old on Pixie Stix and when he asked what, she replied that “it’s a poodle, not a Puerto Rican.” In front of the truck was parked an SUV which contents held what could have passed for a large black poodle or a Puerto Rican, in this case it was a poodle. They both laughed and she was not reprimanded but joined in the moment. Relief and elevation embracing in an unconditional love she had never been privy to, there were always conditions; always. Maybe this was no substitute for the junk, dicks, pussies, clothes, power, and arrogance, but a path, a path not out of anything but deep into a realm only heard about and rarely experienced; the snow didn’t not equate to what the news had said, but it was early yet. A long skinny street could look ridden with the stuff, given the right light, you hear me? It all came to a non-lull, if anything it intensified, futures were known without speaking about them, love was expressed openly and she thought less and less about the night in the park, the closet and in the now burned down shack at the end of the narrow, long driveway that used to hold her. Substitute no, working sense of euphoria and mysticism in place; however denial was far away, due to it not having a need……not anymore anyway. She missed smoking at times to really delve into the contemplation of it all she believed a cigarette could convey and maybe did at one point to her, but now the taste was a bummer, lucky for her (girl upkeep is expensive business.) An open hush among the carnival led to greater, bigger and more potentially combustible things, but wow, what a fucking prize, yeah? Big light eyes looked back in her big dark ones for once and saw her, really saw her, she knew it because she didn’t look away, and neither did the human being. Just one more, open that arm, make it a nice farewell, a voyage it accompanied by a cloud of low sailing cumulus nods……come on baby, I ‘ve held you this long….it always made itself available to her when she was doing her best…..it would never give up and she knew it but this time, it was ok. She welcomed that shadow and knew it to be part of her and the essence she had developed only been as a direct result of having held and dealt with it for the majority of her life and she knew what it held, the answer and detriment to everything. A spoon always holds a reflection, understand? The street was littered with wet red and green reflections of broken lights that seem to never sleep as she shuffled over to the tracks, to cross them, not dig into them. A waitress asked her how she didn’t fall down in those shoes; she didn’t own practical shoes; only what the fuck ones and was content on being the douche who would wear heels with pajamas. After junk, everything is seen as a fucking accomplishment isn’t it? Even this Barbie shit…the difference this time was that after she crossed the tracks there was a hand being extended to her and this time she accepted; the light eyes found her and she squeezed this human being’s hand and moved on. Way on….

I know what I'm doing..

Who knew that it had to be THAT spliced and specific? She looked up from the blue and red wires from the Dodge Stratus she was trying to hotwire with some sad excuse for a running partner; surveyed the parking lot, all was well and she continued to fuck with the unfuckable. How did she get here she wondered?’ living this same scene every day, in the same way, with the same fucks every day. It pained her to admit this way of life was not working out due to her options being less than desirable on all counts, domestic and otherwise. The plunger, the needle, the bleach, the veins, the corners, the cottons, the aaahhh that followed every direct hit, coalesced into a bravery that only junk could provide, the nap, the weekend getaway that had somehow had turned into a full time expedition of every minute of every day. She knew she didn’t want this for any longer than it faded, but then the next day…….the fucking next day that would make her very form waiver in a metaphysical uncertainty that junk would be sure to answer all of her questions, but first she needed to plunge this promise deep into that vein, not that one….. that one doesn’t work anymore. She came back briefly to hear the engine turn over and see nameless #1 scoot with a haste into the passenger side door that she wish he would’ve displayed when they were on Houston earlier robbing that poor blonde with the ridiculous shoes. Nevertheless, to 110th in Spanish Harlem to dump this sack of shit, the car was going as well. Best chop shop in 5 boroughs, they had always worked with her on shit; and judging from that infinite and all too familiar chill, she was right on time. That invisible ball grabber shot that pistol in the air and she and nameless #1 headed uptown. Sitting on the Number 2 train to pick up, a urine soaked Puerto Rican jerked off two seats down and glanced at her as he finished up and came on the felt coat of the old woman sitting to his left. Poor fossil had no idea, maybe she was going to visit her grandkids and they would ask about the humanistic glob on her coat and her daughter would have to lie and later contemplate how to have yet another conversation with her Mother about the home due to things of this nature running more ramped than she would like to admit; funny how guilt covers all manner of sins, even when they quite possibly could be valid ones; guilt and sins collectively, sharing a universal conscious, that happens more often than you want to admit you know. . This masturbating Puerto Rican was just one of many city drones sent out by a supposed force to inspire her to get clean, find a better way of life, the thing was that she just didn’t give a shit and welcomed an early death, if it would have her, it had three times to be exact but had not clung to her nearly enough and led her back to the cold white sterile room and angry faces that held her insurance less charity care papers in their back pockets, yellow ones that she made paper airplanes out of and flew into no particular area of A squat. There were a lot of them, not just from her, but from everyone. She got back on the clock and made her way out of the train, into some unsuspecting Wall St’s pocket, which ultimately produced nothing but an expensive pack of French cigarettes and an inscribed zippo, which if held sentimental value wouldn’t be in this fucktard’s pocket in the first place and then finally on the final stretch to the spot, an apartment on the 8th floor of lost building that used to serve as something for certain someones but not anymore, it was a rent controlled memory of things that may or may have not happened to begin with, right now that nausea didn’t leave much room for contemplation on the matter. Longest goddamn elevator in the world, every motherfucker getting on and off except her and her seemingly publicly wanted aborted mission for junk, for the cure that would make it hush in the same way your black 2nd grade teacher made the class when they became unruly. The door, the door, where was that little day of the dead hooker with the pink hair that sat on the floor next the “door?!” Fuck, there it was, a practical fist pound typical of pigs proper, merited that exact response. I hollered it was me and the door flung open and welcomed me in like a lost Dyfus child reunited with a sick parent; not entirely off really…I slam, glided the money across the kitchen table and in return I was slid a bundle. Sweet Jesus fucking Christ, here we are…. I sat down: spoon out, cotton in, needle flick consistent until the point of entry and let’s get real….aaahhhhh…..thank you Mommy for the gift of rundown, runaway, run run run…… Walking in the rain down a black doorway ridden Soho makes for shit times when you’re passing a meeting, fuck it. They knew and so did I, but spare me your empathetic look shrouded in dismay and key tag propaganda, I was there too you know. Just gonna take a load off for a little while, I’ll be back around in the Spring and you’ll see. Me and you and lemonade and plans, plans for miles. That place in Maine, that place over there and down here and that place you…..yeah, wait till Spring baby and I’m back on that shit, back on the shit in a non-transient way but a cultivating life way, living not surviving, I promise, just this last $20 and I’ll make it back from Babylon, make it back to that pile of shit, well, you know what I mean. Plans baby, plans. I miss you in the rain and the early morning when your eyes are at their peak, you never thought so but I see you. Really see you. You won’t see me, fuck ….I don’t want you to. All in good time, baby, all in good time.

There is only ONE.

There is only ONE. I knew you. I knew you in a dream, in another hemisphere, another life, another path, one in India, one in Rwanda, one in Indonesia, in a perpetual dream state in a world that existed only in a sad lonely hard wood closet with a pink elephant and a brother whose whereabouts are still……..unknown….to ….this…..day. I knew I loved you. I knew I recognized you. Your eyes said….. Then you said….. Then I said…. and you put pen to paper, crayon to paper, etched an invisible vein, artery running through a broken form, how it doesn’t wane anymore, never again….not with this light, not this light baby….too visceral, too, too oohh wait.. I knew you in this place, a walk in the middle of….a haze curtain of junk, babies, not yours, not mine, but them that would belong to us each…a partner unfit, partners that would provide the glue for endless mistakes, couldn’t have done it without them. Couldn’t have you without them….remind me to send thank you cards in 2067… I feel you when you are not here, I know where you are always, that beacon, that rush, that vibration, that smell, that unconscious knowing of perfection for said individual only for you, tailor made, tailor made for me, for you; only two on the planet that acknowledge it, know it, feel it. Want it, would know to want it. Love of every lifetime, every…..time. I see you baby, I see you for everything. Christmas every day is a sad analogy, not even justifiable in the splendor that is encountered with you and that perfect soul; soul on fire with a strong wind to move it, we gotta go baby; places to be, places to be… I knew you and know you now, I recognize you. I knew you when, I know you now, I know that blue, that blue that scares me and makes me sit up, that look that makes me leave this plane and peek out the next, a small scope for what comes next……thank yous thank yous thank yous and them too.

Squeaky Clean Streethearts

I’ve seen you out and about in a cloud of blue electric haze accompanied by people who seek to ensconce you with a lifeless ooze of fictious ambition led by even easier led automatons. You sad, sad sack…..baby I wish I felt for you, but I don’t, not even a little. Take a little off the top and lie to me, tell me you’re trying, tell me you’re the only one to ever feel this way. Tell me baby. Tell me all that shit the oyster divers believe. The low down dirty streethearts that tear you up from the outside and never make their way in, even though maybe you wish they would a little. The sun sets on you the same as it does any of us baby. Your hard time is no harder than the nail you drive it in with. I left you sleeping in a haze of fallacy, regret and even worse awareness; that same awareness that won’t serve you because you choose to ignore it. Yeah, we all ignore it for a time….until….until that gun gets too heavy and the tears stop coming. Dry is dry. Waiting never looked as desperate as it does on you and I don’t feel for you or the sad story you cling to that isn’t yours. Acclimating to a reality that was never yours is the permeating sting of a disturbed fallout shelter of a human being, maybe even human shell. That house on the block holds no more meaning for you than it does for me now, but you choose my side instead. It’s not your to take however, so give it back or better yet absolve your inadequate tendencies to shoplift experience and make better with it and allow it to be someone who will learn. Not you, not now…. It’s a mean street you never ventured down, a leather jacket you never owned, a scar that had a different origin, make it solid, make it fuck yourself. You do every time you tell that story, I hope you know; fuck yourself that is. Are you aware of that? I know a sky opens up when a point is reached, but only for that individual, only the right time, only in pristine weather, only in dire circumstances, none of which you possess. How dare you, how dare you answer a question that hasn’t been asked, how dare you claim to have vacancy in your eyes when they are already filled with materialistic excrement found in the form of social media ridden expectations and societal norms which you so desperately cling and hope to copulate with. I wish a perpetual sour taste in your mouth, shitty gulps of reality pregnant with a harshness that will lead you to a humility only the devastated can possibly know. I know your type baby, the tight fisted, loose lipped chicken pride that struts about displaying the dissention within their own ranks and leave a trail of obvious everywhere they go, I know you baby, I spit on you damn near every day. I know your kind and I won’t take to it lightly or in any manner for that matter. Buck up runaway, I have daggers for you.

Prelude to a Nap

I knew she wasn’t what she claimed by the sad sick eyed look on her face that had leaked its way down to her veins, or more like the lack thereof. Deep open gashes that had once served as the life givers that allow oxygen to reservoir throughout like a fast tide had become the cesspool of forgotten aspirations and children she no longer felt the need to lie to and say she wanted. This was the nature of the beast, an Argentinian beast that hailed from a dilapidated town that smart minded compassion ridden nerds sought to save said girls from and never could, but would damn near die trying to no avail…..she knew the look. She knew the familiarity of these things for she had been living dogs days for as long as she could remember. Dog days made up not the years lost but the ones you counted down to the day, down to the bone down to the last abscess that would provide the last and final crater you couldn’t bring yourself to look at in the daytime, nor the fuck that made you well last night. These were all the things that were instilled instead of cookies only in the oven for no longer for 12 minutes or else they would burn, so much for those hand holding moments that would never come. But Goddamn she sure wanted them to. She held hands, just not the important ones, but the ones that would decapitate her into a mental cripple. The smell of a wanton life as almost as the smell of a successful one depending on the contextual peppering of humility coupled with an arrogance that is rooted in a fear that only junk provides. She taught her all of these things; Isabella Sarli on a bender of incestuous arson ridden soul sucking qualities that would be heard in a well over grown with prehistoric fossils; with not one but two kids intact, or juxtaposed at best. They were alive when she turned, maybe not so much when she completed the circle…. A dark blue light was better than a red one. That meant calm tranquil hotel rooms with limited fucking, red lights meant smaller 4 walled rooms with stainless steel toilets that she would kick in again and again and again.. As she shot in her own diseased corner of the ditch, she couldn’t help but think that maybe not exactly in the full moon type 2 hour long saga ridden independent film sentiments aside maybe her Mom was shooting in the same diseased ditch. Funny what we choose to make acceptable in order to feel normal and Hallmarkish, rationalize the most outrageous sort of non-sense, that’s what the 12 Step literature would tell her years later and she would recall with regret that she hadn’t taken that one to the bank and had opted out for the park instead….and we all know what happens in the park. It’s a story, not a snowflake one in the cynical sense but a story nonetheless, mine to be exact. You don’t want to hear and I don’t want to tell it, but here we are making believe that you will wash it out with the tendencies of the next day’s road rage and passive aggressive supermarket line debacles; but we both know you want really; but I’ll tell you what sugar, I’ll tell you what,……I’m gonna sleep good tonight knowing that another wish has been blown and you will have to look me in the face next time, and I’ll meet you dead on. Dead fucking on; your turn not to sleep.