I've chased my roots, back to flourcent lights and cash registers of westchester
wondering about authenticity, arguing with a women who hides her craziness except since she's been comfortable enough to openly avoid my eye contact, about how sweet I can be.
3 months seems to deem the time in which one can establish the farce that is a modern life, away from demons, possesing me in new york city, away from yearnings of the road, away from large white elephants, never forgetting, always feeding (other people, not itself)
reminding me of conversations about open relations around a camp fire in colorado as the sun came up, and I met magic's horse before I heard him strum a string and the son-of-a-bitch farted as he walked past. Taunting me not to take it so seriously as we piled back on the elephant at 8 in the morning with signs of divorce in the redding hills behind the westward tee-pee rocks.
Radios blast, and its a lost image. I write, it become untrue, and true again, like the tides I go insaine at the full moon.
I've been reading tarot cards, a zen deck brought the group to its second, sacral chakra. Orange, like myself, creative and sexual. I wish to find a place to dance half naked tonight. Fully naked is not yet nessary. That can wait till we've been here for 6 months, and I'm fully insane, or sane, depending on how well this job goes and if I can get a hold of holding onto some money.
Constumer service is no big deal, i'm a man of the people as I explain to them its cheeper and smarter in the econminy not to hire me for the job I'm here to do. You can do it better yourself if you apply yourself, how do you think I got this job in the first place?
They told me I could be management in two years. I puked into my mouth and swallowed. I hope he didn't see it with his third eye. Working this long, drinking this much coffie, I wonder if he's capaable.
We all used to be in media, but retail is steadier. We hate it just the same, but do it anyways.
I produced public access and talk about god with my boss on the phone. THREE days in I was in charge, aware of what I had to do, until the cops busted the door down and I cried 'I'm innocent." They heard it before, I"ve said it before, but this time its true. Not inncoent of my relations, but of my realtions misdoings.
Maybe its a trap. Maybe its for the better. Either way, I can still write.
Either way, it's still right.
I met a man on the road,cover by grey clouds, surronded by his will. I pulled him out of my body and he turned to translucent light. Evil has a way of leaving me impaired. Selfish and imparied.
I've already started writing hikus at work.
"Got a paying gig.
Black pants, white shirt, red apron.
Oh, I've been framed"