at first i felt touched, but then no
no no no.
you don’t want to be like me
trust me.
not a goon like me
not a procrastinating, lazy-in-the-mornings
(and sometimes in the evenings), goon like me,
not a messy and unorganized, too busy and too stoopid kid like me
not a get-drunk-kid, a get-high-guy, not a seeking-solely-sex,
rebellious little fuck, can’t sing not a lick, self-conscious coward, potty-mouthed goon like me
you don’t want it, little man.
you want more, little man.
and i’m happy and i do love my life but i’m far from something to strive to
little brother, you can do more.
do and be so much more
because i’ve seen you
and i’ve seen your eyes
when you sound out long words like “me-dal-li-ion” and “sug-ges-tive-ly”
i’ve seen you get pumped about solving math problems with two digits and a fraction.
holy hell, little brother, you’re gonna do some great things
greater than I, greater than anyone, because you’re my little brother
and I’m going to show you the maps
tell me where you wanna go
and I’ll get you there
and, little brother, you better be in bed by midnight
unlike me, you need to be in bed by midnight
and then wake up early
and kiss a new born sun for me
and when i’m sleeping, snoozing, unconscious and drooling,
you go and conquer the world.
not yet a man,
but i’ve seen you shake hands
i’ve seen you hold tight and lock eyes
mark word when i say this:
you will be, and already arguably are, better than me.
i love night! so blue and cool.
so beautifully blue. beautifully cool.
and so sweet that shine. that night shine. a special shine.
lit only by night’s lights.
the blue light
coming from a big ball of cheese,
and beautiful twinkles.
tiny twinkles. but just enough twinkles.
enough for me, at least
and i enjoy those night time drives.
those night time drives that always get kids connected,
riding the same road of both this realm and the next.
the same road inside and out.
the same road, baby.
it’s all about finding a group of goons to catch kicks on the same road with.
holy honey!
just a group of goons catchin’ kicks on the same road.
and that’s what we were and that’s what we are.
i see that day coming.
when i’m sitting aged and slow, closing heavy eyes.
remembering that night. those nights.
those blue and cool nights.
and quietly thinking
”that’s what we were, that’s what we are”
it’s harder to say good morning when your eyes’ve been open long enough to see Night’s end.
but it ain’t always bad news. ‘cuz (sometimes) i’d rather be awake! and (sometimes) i’d rather be AWARE of myself and the sounds/feelings/things i hear/feel/touch as i sip/gurgle/drown on a glass of RIGHT NOW, than dry and half dead preparing for a LATER-ON!
but today i’m pretty tired…
got paid
and i feel good. and it’s stoopid and materialistic and shallow and so what. i do like money. i do appreciate the things it gets me and the things i get to do because of it. i’m not entirely happy about all the systems and the structures that go on in coordinating money on a mass, nor do i dig the goons who’ve deemed money and power synonyms, but i’m swimming in the same ocean as you, man. in the depths of it, we know what it’s like to run low on air. today my tanks refilled. and i’m happy about it.
men,
read hemingway. fucking read it.
powerful. powerful. powerful.
systematically supported
the stuff i’m made of and the stuff stuff’s made of is all the same stuff. a thing to toss around and think of when the lights are low and the room is hazed.
do what with that? i don’t know. be sad, sometimes. realizing i’m no greater than rocks and dirt and crud. cool. but then i think, sometimes. that stars, planets and every beautiful thing (ever), is no greater than me.
and then i’ve come to a point, at which greater or lesser is too archaic a gauge. no gauge at all, actually. just one, one universe.
(both infinitely great and infinitely meaningless)
and when more haze fills the room i realize that i am the universe, consciously experiencing itself, within itself, continuously… and then i pass out.
because only God can comprehend such lunacy.
whiskey rum and marijuana
standing on desks or blowing O’s from bowls. i can look at the same shit sober and then the same thing tweaked, come back to write two different stories. because it’s all about perspective. and the changes of it. glances from another angle.
novelty is always the goal.
vibrate and live through this loving place. connect and accept. or stand stagnant and still,
and drown within its depths.
seven hours & russian vodka
you used to live on the other side of an overpass; a short drive, a long walk, away from another fit.
it’s a longer trek now, but i’ll keep makin’ it, brother.
“Just, uh… can you hold an umbrella?”
forked road. 17 tines.
i don’t do it to die, but the dose is the poison. and i can’t but never help that me don’t not want all and too much, always. and then i gets what me don’t desire but need.
all but too often, never.
