Thursday, February 25, 2016
36°
to collapse in a heap in the corner there is no decision
- not me, some mix up with another.
- i dont expect to be getting a second chance.
- why not?
- have a you a bit of whiskey in the pocket?
- sure.
- because i wont. i wont slip off the edge. i wont write on unstable ground. nor type on top of the literary works; words and stories, thoughts, ideas misappropriations, cut ups and systematic lies.
- i knew what i needed from the age of four and i've been looking ever since.
- this is the end and, yet i keep on going, as though there were a ladder before me and, somewhere higher up above, there is a view of greater perspective.
- less hate for everything you can remember.
- forgive me if i am forgetful.
- that is the ruin of the author.
- memory is decadent. i am a street author.
- not always. change comes from within.
- no panic, in retrospect, i just sat there ready to play my tune, waiting on a breeze that could enter this folk instrument. i was not up to the task of telling the stories of my time.
- nothing here to lose, nothing here to prove, take this wandering idiot as i is.
- we are a well worn show. the shine of novelty is wearing off our thick skins.
- two well tanned hides.
- i know you are getting into trying things, new things like gift giving.
- it sums up. we are out of touch with ourselves.
- i have always seen myself as the gift that keeps giving.
- one beer over another hour after hour, the rocket is out. thirty six ingredients...
¶ 3:25 am - not me, some mix up with another.
- i dont expect to be getting a second chance.
- why not?
- have a you a bit of whiskey in the pocket?
- sure.
- because i wont. i wont slip off the edge. i wont write on unstable ground. nor type on top of the literary works; words and stories, thoughts, ideas misappropriations, cut ups and systematic lies.
- i knew what i needed from the age of four and i've been looking ever since.
- this is the end and, yet i keep on going, as though there were a ladder before me and, somewhere higher up above, there is a view of greater perspective.
- less hate for everything you can remember.
- forgive me if i am forgetful.
- that is the ruin of the author.
- memory is decadent. i am a street author.
- not always. change comes from within.
- no panic, in retrospect, i just sat there ready to play my tune, waiting on a breeze that could enter this folk instrument. i was not up to the task of telling the stories of my time.
- nothing here to lose, nothing here to prove, take this wandering idiot as i is.
- we are a well worn show. the shine of novelty is wearing off our thick skins.
- two well tanned hides.
- i know you are getting into trying things, new things like gift giving.
- it sums up. we are out of touch with ourselves.
- i have always seen myself as the gift that keeps giving.
- one beer over another hour after hour, the rocket is out. thirty six ingredients...