Saturday, November 14, 2009

I'm not jealous, I'm not jealous,
I'm not jealous, I'm not jealous.
Because I don't get jealous.

Am I affirming myself, or stating a truth. I don't know and you
won't know. Maybe a little bit of both? But here I am, sinking
my teeth into my lip, I'm trying not to think.
I have silk screens and things that come in threes. I have a two
AM phone call and a couple of cigarettes left to smoke, or give
away if I choose (which I won't). I have music that makes me
happy and music that makes my fucking body ache with missed
opportunities and sicksicksickness. Oh god.
I'm squeezing my eyes shut as I write this. I am so... unsettled.

Today I read an article about.
Actually, I don't want to talk about it.


But, it felt like a turn of phrase, a vein of vocabulary. One that
mirrors the veins staining your eyes red. The veins that halt all
communication, an impasse.

I am solicitously amenable to everything in that state.
Let's get shitty together, at the dugout.

2 comments:

mickey fart pants said...

what are you trying to say, i wish i knew

grinning mouths said...

Johnny the Punk once invited me to get fucked up with him behind the dugout. I politely declined. He found another dude named Rusty to get fucked up with instead.

Knowing how their story ends, I can't say I regret passing up that particular offer.