playing soccer with the cabs on houston street.
taking a crap in the trunk of some puerto rican rappers' car. much to their chagrin, i suppose...
happy halloween. i can't wait till thanksgiving. i hope to yodel till dawn with a rectal thermometer in my ear and my new yet to be found transvestite wife and her baby, pink poodles at the doorstep of her recently burnt out trailer. for the time being i should just peel my toungue off the roof of my mouth where it has been adhered by the spackling that my saliva became sometime after passing out round 4 a.m.
this seems like a good trade for being once capable of bouncing laser beams off the stars with my inter-retina radar waves. kind of like getting back to the basics of what living really is. what dying really is. whatever, drink some water, and a big ole glass of STFU and get on with the dream. hazy, foggy dream, somewhere, back of the skull, right beneath one of the recently found, previously forgetten bruises, we seem to be collecting regular as of late, us evel kneivel, alcha-yogi-sahtva freaks that we are. as usual, there were women, to be sure, but as always one in particular that riled me up, and wound me more tightly than could be contained, sent me spinning out into the cool night, teetering like a coin on the prowl for a place to rest my head or tail, always on the brink, weight thrown forward, legs just barely keeping up. bound to, sooner or later, dig teeth into soil, rearing to a halt with the whole spine firing juice into the misty meandering back of my mind. somehow these intermittant lubrications trigger cool nostalgias, useless and indulgeant as they may be, i remember slow, low sunshine days, way back when, before i was broken, spent, emptied out and filled back up again and again. same thing happened at the end of the h trip, though this time around i am amazed by the speed with which it all got on with, just a couple of months to drain the clear waters and leave the tank an echoe chamber, reverberating with the last ring of what surely was a scream of delight, like the same one you hear the last second before dropping into the steep track of an old wooden roller coaster, excepting this happened at the end of the ride, not the start. must have been fun, i know i was in love at least ten times with the city and her dreamy flowers, her poppies, her roses, blossoms sprang from the concrete, glass and steel, these most unlikely angels somehow right at the fingertips of the devil, just within reach, tickling at gripping, not so much to tear at the roots as to drink from the petals all of the morning dew, steeped in floral sweetness, all for a moments salvation, just a moment, just one more is all we ask, as the history of the universe swims around our ears and turns the last shock of hair on my head on end, charged with the electric possibile, anything happens, everything happens, anyone happens, everyone happens, all of the time. if you keep your ears pressed tight to the rails you might hear the next one coming before it runs you over, you might have your eyes open and heart clear enough for room to let her sit, the next moment, shining second, with the scintillating halo of this most rare engagement, most perfect wire, tightening to a quivering hold, again on the edge of its eminent collapse, one could taste it, balanced on to the tip of the tongue, knowing it was all so beautiful flying as it was the most likely to fall....