Old Times

heaviness hangs over broken bodies, falls over tired toes. i feel like maybe i need some tylenol but my dad keeps calling me to tell me it'll kill me. remember the panadol, remember the trend of too many a day and the dependence. i remember. but i also remember the intangible unvalidated problems swept into the cave when friends had boy problems and parent problems, and i know how to make the tiniest tingle a big deal problems. stone rolls into town, like an elephant in a crack den. nobody fucking cares when the reason is feeling and the feeling doesn't manifest itself as body bruises and razor scars. it's my own personal catch-22: crazy enough to not be okay, not crazy enough to be grounded in a strait jacket. it's the problem of the 21st. no world wars, only body wars. and i've grown sick and tired of poetry and the novel often doesn't convey in the speed, the tempo, the moment i need. i feel dead and dizzy. like i've just discovered the world isn't round: it's flat and i've reached the edge. the stars hang their glares sideways of the mouth, the stars turn their turntables and the needles scratch deeper than the surface, the needles force the crack. ah.

i bid $2 on a crosley entertainment center. if this pulls through I will be so elated and it will mean that next weekend it's used everything shopping! bah bah bah!



i remember when i was obsessed with marilyn. i was very obsessed with marilyn. especially year 13 when i believed that marilyn knew. i could see through her smile.

i was also obsessed with ladybugs.