And we missed the draft.
Calypso. Nirvana. Tree-Stars.
I love you so much it makes me sick.
If I only could, make a deal with god.
Brain and hair and going out Saturday to get laid.
Stealing pot-plants off the girl I had a one night stand with.
Needing a plant for my desk.
It all comes back around.
And fair, fair maiden.
“Just go with anybody”.
I let you go.
I let you go.
I dropped the ball,
my animosity. My self bait.
Your uncaring words, attribution of wealth and meaning.
Stain on the earth. People mailing to you, cunt.
How’s your dad’s leg? Hip? Knee was it?
Your brother still addicted to ICE?
Yes yes, i’ll hang on.
You call me from the car.
and there you go, coughing in the phone Kaito, like a moron.
Inconsiderate and banal and drole and boring.
Uninspired with the world.
Lost and lame, and buying into the most horrible, jaded bullshit.
and you what? dude? Tell me. What’s your edge exactly?
Red meat. Bad digestion.
I’ll have vegemite tomorrow, no doubt. Dipped in milk.
And Rhizome structure, the great leveler.
ALL IT IS IS A METAPHOR.
Its not real, its not an explanation.
Its a likeness that isn’t the actual thing.
Its an example of what it is, and is not.
It mentions that there are many paths to the logic.
As a sort of tool, attributing to the worlds personification,
Us in the center. Making our chests puff.
Missing the point. Natural or otherwise.
Our broken mechanics.
Missing mechanisms of understanding is decisively, deceiving and divisive in deciding the devilish evidence.
And its another example of what it is.
Its a form, my embarrasment.
My loss, confusion.
My book and tools and crying eyes at shame.
Lost, always, away awash. Sposh, sploosh.
What are you teaching your son?
He’ll be bad. We all are, but you can remedy most.
-I took off your beanie, I declined coffee.
Absolutely, positively great. I am one hundred percent in agreement that what you’re teaching him is worthy, yes.
You think i’m being facetious and sarcastic?
You think it detracts from my ‘Yes and agreement’?
Its ironic. I agreed so hard you had to question.
My mannerism are different.
My authenticity. My magic of mystery.
The name of the song.
The Hot Hot Heat.
Just a man, with… Suitcase in hand… and a-
perfect plan. *Hollow ending*
Nothing is perfect.
Then I went to Yoga and worried.
worried, worried worried.
Tired now, milk and honey kind.
tickets bought for Dark MoFo,
life ticks over.
My skin is pocker.
My love is bent.
My body’s broken.
Yours is spent.
Carve your name in-
to my arm.
Instead of lost I lay here charmed.
Because there’s nothing else to do.
every me, and every you.