Broke

Broke, broke, stuck, stuck, smile.

Stuck to Houston life.

A wonder in the sky wishbone split crack cracked piles stacked the stoner rock platitude plundered. A wonder in the whys and the hows and not right now. What’s it all mean? Why do folks have to be so indifferent and mean. They say the end justifies the means. The rule books are huge. Rewrite history and rewrite meaning. The almighty rotten evil dollar losing value as it goes along as it overpopulates the earth with the greed of roaches. Roll along over flatten flat make it like that there happen – look at it smooth paper thin greedy the country the government the system – military billions involved and oh the fucking drama. Three shots of Perspective and counting.

Stop counting, it’s time to make the fold out cot into a raft. The sea is in the carpeting, not terrifying. She brings over large slices of the Sun – I say I don’t want – I flee its radiation RUN to the bathroom where most vomiting folks go. What you really need is to stop complaining. The room flickers, looks strange, makes the people look strange, makes them look pretty good.

Company vs. Alone Time. Will you treat yourself well? Bedtime. Bend time. Test time. Cuddle. Nap. Dump it out. Heat wave same, similar, asking enough to dead done, don’t do that. Save saved. Don’t complain. Swim across a smack to the face.

She holds the man hostage and vandalizes his brain, hacks his body smartly according to medical texts, slipping in and out and about with big plans to castrate him in the large bay window. Hard Candy hard to swallow; I suppose you get what you deserve.

So… police stay at home and watch your DVDs. Keep police off our streets where they don’t belong, is my love song to the world, to impress the girl, to express what is pure and to put it to practice this very instant. Smile!

This steady knowing unfolds to flower majestic while my bike manifests pure spirit yet still I U-lock it to the pearly gate.

All experience is cinematic so close your eyes and be at one, two, three, four, five. The six is good. But stop counting!

Say it – say it up over and underneath and at your teeth, the milk is poured on the scoreboard short circuited, the blinded find relief in these words redded their reddest at their angriest and most violent, yet soothed at sessions of sipped tea, hair rises to static electricity and soothes delinquency to a cool blue with a benevolent gesture.

Blue blood courses slow through my marijuana shoulders and lower neck vexed with pressure and seemingly insurmountable worries.

On-going page after page without commas ‘cuz they’re not needed and this shit ain’t easy haven’t ya heard? Spitting and spewing sentences with little regard to get small animals run down run over flattened before their time. Sentences that don’t give a fuck or mind their manners going to meet the parents of the girl you kinda like. Discomfort, uncomfortable information as if from a cloud mist fog the piercing screech of old pipes in the walls. Discomfort and disease, dissociative effects, inebriation, endangered species. Please and pretty please. Now. Here to be here, right now. No place else. Three Buddhas sit still but may shake their heads from time to time. No no no no.

It’s a matter of how you push yourself up to the edge of being fucking crazy and instead of going over, you grind the edge with a smirk on your face or wake up the next day more sober than ever before. Slipping out of this reality for only a small amount of time only makes it that much harder to come back to and function within its boundaries when so many are just begging to be broken.