Better Back the Fuck On Up

Originally Posted: 10/12/08

Whiplash, whip-crack and a boom-a-rang cock. Spilled milk, spilled beer, spilled blood. Things are awash in other things and longer I go, the more vague I become. A petty little bitterness, an anguish with no cause. These are a few of my favorite testicles.



Madlibs, man. Madlibs and madness. A trivial comparion, a sorry little corner in the center of the mind. It doesn't make sense. Prize goes to you. This isn't cryptic, its pointless. I'm angry and confused and the whirlwind is taking me. Far, far away. To the north, the south, your mouth. I fantasize about your lips in ways that don't connect. A kiss, a touch, an orgasm. All things concentric, nothing out of line. We all need a little order in our lives, but right now its all chaos. That's no way to live, my dear. But we'll all be ok someday. Its just the way of things.

Cycles and circles, I talk in an endless array of patterns with no pattern. No reason. Its nonsense, nonsensical. I've shrugged off my burdens and cut loose my face. So now instead of reveries I'm lost in thoughts of entropy and how my muscles have begun to atrophy from long misuse. My brain and heart and kidneys pulled apart in new directions. I could leave or I could try again to get you lost in me. But am I lost in you? I mean, there's something wrong here right? This isn't childhood no more, there has to be a meaning. Maybe the meaning is meaningless and the powers that be are powerless and everything's a fucking mess because you're long, long gone. So I'll stay lost in something, something old or something blue. I'll be on an island.

There's a fountain, or a statue or a...a...nevermind.

I'm out of sorts and out of touch. Where's my Mr. Universe? I need to get some bearings straight or I'll be off the road. Then I guess the shit won't matter much, cause I'll be wrapped around a tree who weeps because I violated her and never bought her dinner. I hope you don't think ill of me for getting on so poorly. It isn't that I'm certain or sure of where I'm going. I just can't fathom knowing.

I suppose this is the last you'll hear from me for a short while. Who knows maybe you'll get a drunken note tonight. Badly spelled and incoherent, lacking in the newness that I once took for granted. Too bad not all things can be brushed aside as easily as bullets blown off course.

Helter-skelter, fuck-a-boo.

Keepin it real,
-S.R.