Houston hands me a bottle and it’s just one and I say thank you World and it laughs, because I laugh, because laughing… is contagious. When you get drunk the spirits come and break the doors down. There are splinters all over this apartment. Getting messed up is congruous. Messed up parallel with being truthful and loose and open and… barriers tumble down. It is the era of the easily written paragraph. This evening we say: “2012 – Buy Nothing Year.” Sunday, fuck shit up day. Go to the symphony, live life up. Do what ya gotta do, right? Sunday as good as any other. I feel good about multiple scenarios being acted out right now. Let me tell you.
Paragraphs. I’ll have one owl please. Sneeze. Sneeze. Let me tell you about some city some time, what it is like to be there, my own little perspective, what it was like to open and shut a window in that neighborhood, the next door neighbor friendly for awhile, then after 911 and the anniversary of the death of his mother, fallen into the world of depression. I can understand it. Me and depression are like this. Me and depression are like THIS. I’m trying to show you but I can’t. My fingers cross. I’m trying to give you a picture of what it’s like to live practically anywhere, but specifically a city or suburb. You say your thing now. We’re trying to talk to one another, not be afraid of one another. Are our motives pure any more? I bet they are. I bet they are.
TV will do something to you, so be selective. Beer will shake you upside down, change will be falling out of your pockets and you won’t remember where you put your book of Bukowski poems. Select your consumption wisely. Select, choose, gamble, take a chance.
An old friend says, “I don’t hate you.” We look up down and about and hard feelings are done the way done things are just, you know, done. Time passes. Say it out real. Be as real as you can be. Fuck the Army, the Navy, whatever. You don’t have to be ALL you can be. Just be you. You yourself. And save what you write, read it later. You can learn from yourself. The “nonsense” shit you write, you find it’s not so terrible upon a reread, or you see into the heart of it, its essence, and you learn to love yourself, slowly, gradually, and it’s something.
2006 was a shake up for me and I’m still figuring it out, if it’s pushed me to the point of insanity, and really, I think it has not, but maybe something close. Then I wonder if that is such a bad thing, because perspective is lacking and perspective is needed. How broad can you make that perspective? If you see the patterns and they are scary, think on it some more. What you see when you close your eyes could be healing. When you kiss someone, it could be healing. Why does it take so long for you to be good to yourself and to allow someone that passage to treat you well? What is it? What is there? Who’s knocking?
If we give up hope, it’s self destruction. But you come to my house, it becomes your house. You wanna grow organic, I’ll point you in the right direction. You wanna talk about some interesting shit, I’ll dig something up. If we love each other, we have to buy very little. We can cancel our cable and watch less TV. If we love, then the bigger answers are on their way. I wanna say it just like that.
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