joshuapaul
One can't even be sure what to or not to consume, seeking nourishment. where are our standards and why have we been forsaken?
I've always been one to poke pins in things. you'd think it would deflate the problem but instead it only becomes infected and swells up, turns a bright red. not just bright but a deep red, like looking at your own crimson blood on a clean surface and watch as it dries. I forget my type, never bothered to give blood, there are other people care more about my fellow man than me. I pulled my wrist back and wiggled my fingers to see how much I could get out. A good amount, until I started to get tunnel vision. I remembered the first girl I kissed, then the second. They were young and stupid and I was a smooth talker. I remembered my longest relationship then forgot her name. told her I loved her at some point and I thought I did but was wrong. We're all wrong some of the time, so we come back with a quip and laugh but no one joins, can't win them all.
"Do a kickflip!" some kid skateboarding in the parking lot, harassed by another trying to be funny. there was a girl somewhere whom someone was making a silly but wholehearted attempt to impress. I was on my way to get bread and peanut butter. eggs, too, if there's enough leftover. the nature of women escapes me, but girls are like the adolescent trout you catch and throw back because it seems helpless and unable to fulfill any real urge. women are more resilient, but also more often than not caught up with some clown whom baited and hooked them at a younger age. I easily could've been that guy and should have or have not been.
a rainy day is
always a chance to
read a good book of
poetry and quips,
clever little things.
Bukowski or Poe or
Whoever you like.
without warning I was shown a picture of a puppy playing with a blonde haired blue eyed boy in the summer and a certain idea makes a little more sense. water from the sprinkler cooled his face and his red striped shirt got wet, the dog less enthused. his bare feet tip tap in place as if in ritual. lively in mid motion but so still, making such a valiant attempt to break the serenity, the sacredness of the photograph. "it's my son, isn't he cute?" "yes, adorable." I hadn't even considered the question or what it meant, seemed insignificant. I felt like I understood the boy and the dog. I remembered when I was like him and all I knew was the grass and a dog named Gus and I understood him and he me and we had conversations dancing through the sprinkler in august or july. captured for me was a moment out of context and displayed as if it on it's own could say something which otherwise was ambiguous.
I've never known a man who knew where he was going and wasn't lying about it. face it, man, you're as lost as the rest of us. you're dragging your feet through your stressful job so you can pay for food and a woman. if you're lucky that woman will give you kids and you'll pay for them too. you'll turn forty and buy a nice car then you'll sell it. then you'll retire and those kids will be paying for your as and you'll buy that car back. you'll learn one song on the piano and play it 'til you die. we're all drifters and don't even get the benefit that comes with a lack of family or social security number.
but come over if you're bored. we'll have hot dogs and beer and I'll play my song and you play yours and we won't be merry but we wouldn't know it if we were.
grapefruit fresh off the tree. a ripe peach. her round buttocks in jeans. my hard cock you can see through mine, if that's what you're looking for. Van Goh for some, Bach for others and some of the same. Dali, Pollock and John Coltrane (in his later years) for the braver souls. your ability to look in around and through something and deem it worthy or unworthy of praise. it is or it isn't. either it's evil (and not even so much evil as uninteresting), or its, as Ginsberg would suggest, HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY...
in the trunk of my car I have some jumper cables, a couple tools, and some other assorted items. I don't remember the last time I opened it. I do remember, however faintly, the hood. when it was new. not so much the contents, as her on top of it. Jenna... Janna... Jess. she got me into trouble stealing things and public belligerence. married now, to some guy whom used to sell xanax behind the gym. her tits sag past her waist. wide, brown nipples, and her kids drive her batsht. she was hot though. ran into her husband, they're upside down on their mortgage.
everyone is fixing something. some things don't need to be fixed. we see them with our flawed vision and they look dirty so we wipe 'em down with filthy rags. try sitting down with yourself. silence and an empty room, ten to fifteen minutes, like getting a new windshield after the old one is clouded with smoke and cracks, months of rain without having been washed. you could use the squeegee at the gas station but it only makes it worse, you know?
Rated 'R' for violence, sex and foul language. Rated 'R' because we want you to be wary of whether or not you should see it. because we don't want your kids to see it. because we think it will be popular with the 16-24 demographic.
Rated 'PG' because we want this to be the movie most people are going to see this weekend. It's healthy and informative in all the ways that will keep you satisfied enough to go home, heat up a tv dinner, catch the Biggest Loser on your 57" flat screen and roll over onto your queen-sized bed.
'Not Rated' because it's too provocative, asks too many questions. We don't like it and neither should you. if you do you're a degenerate. you're 'weird'.
"We are enslaved to and by
false information, and it is
a blind deterministic prison of cause and effect which
uses us up, wears us out of its purpose and then throws us away"
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