we went down
the guns went up
monster swarmed
and darkness blinked
you stung the pain
broken bones mended
but you met the fists
again and again.
I struck the walls
in search of a door
but I hit the bricks
over and over
we slunk to the floor
soul assault covered
clutching bad moods
exhausted and bled
Oh this takes me back to the good ol’days.
When a dime of coke still cost a 20 and pay phones were still a quarter.
When we’d all hang out at Metro, which was still called Dominion, eating no-name Oreos because we’d spent all our money on blow.
It was the late 90′s…
tbc
‘We all have our own scars.’ You said to me one night.
‘I don’t want my own.’ I countered, rather petulantly I realize now upon reflection, ’I want to share them all with you.’
We hide ours scars and then our secrets until one day we look over and we’re sharing our beds with strangers.
I am and always will be very fond of Kurt Vonnegut.
So this must be posted as a little homage to one of my greatest influences and a saying that helps keep me sane.
As you walk down the street you can’t help but think of the old days when you wished with ever step that death would greet you in the next. But today, you can think only of the fact that you have a hole in you shirt. It wasn’t even a big one and with your arm down at your side, it couldn’t even be seen…
An excerpt of a new short story I am writing.
It was a chance meeting on the street, an inescapable occurrence in the city. We’d last spoke only days ago, one of our marathon phone chats, but you looked at me as if we’d never met —newly acquainted friendly strangers.
He’d said it was a special day, but I couldn’t place the date.
A Wednesday, a number, in the month of October?
No, just wasn’t ringing any bells.
I’d said this outloud, by accident really, and that was it from him.
He left quite early.
As previously posted on Twitter:
A Salvadorian Ecuadorian
was once a valedictorian.
Never a very good Victorian,
he often made speeches about wanting a Delorean.
*
Finally a rhyme,
at a precisely good time.
What a wonder it is,
should be in show biz,
next time you see me,
I’ll be playing in Capri.
*
Really must stop
before these rhymes start to rot.
I have to say first
it’s been fun to converse.
But I really must go now,
taking a final deep bow now.
I remember once, long ago, I saw a face at the window.
It was a bright crisp day, and the sun was shinning in great big streams through the glass. I was watching, entranced, as the light played across the carpet.
All at once, however, the light disappeared. Blinking at the loss of warmth and form I’d been admiring I stared up at the window in offence.
The glare I was wearing turned to horror as I processed what I was seeing;
Bigfoot stood out there, looking in on me, a great gaudy fedora perched on his head with a large orange feather sticking out of its top.