let the good time roll
Posted: September 25th, 2007, 3:03 am
FRED'S DRUNKEN STORMS
Wind is picking up. A raw angst in the chest. Red blood shot intense eyes. Fred. A large tearful monster. Black clothing. Red hair. Black shoes. Bottles of beer. Broken conversations and glaring disapproving eyes of his girlfriend Suzanne.
“why you got to get like this?” Suzanne say tugging at his shirt.
“it's the booze...” said one of Suzanne's want to be saviors who followed her like a harem.
“fuck off chad” fred said as if chad was the worse name a person could have in the world.
“this not a fucking movie!” Suzanne screamed as she pulled Fred's hair.
Rain started falling and hitting the deck making a rapid shot bullet sound. This only intensified Fred's soul of angry that towered in his mind above all.
This is the poetry off love and life!
But love is a lie that was never was found!
Chad knows what he's doing but knows not why...
days later after the split when chad and Suzanne ate humus in the sunny backyard listening to music with no soul. Energetic nothing guitars going thought the motions of a song. The singer with ample talent but like a machine. The whole scene was a lie. Too easy too forced, passionless.
This is how thing are supposed to be like...
on a train track in the woods a fire at midnight. A can of beans and a Hemingway novel. Fred sits with a week growth. Sleeping bags around him. A ghetto blaster pumps out FEAR. Anarchist in black dirty sheen patched clothing and gruff voices expound dirty jokes about dirty sex in dirty places while dirty people smile with dirty faces. Back to nature in a way. The sad truth of progress the mess that is the world and the truth of his personal life mimicking the personal life of the world. The world is an asshole drunk bastard.
This is what things are supposed to be like...
don't run and don't hide and don't settle and don't fight...
BOMB SHELTER WORKERS
“I'm an alcoholic. I was in to the crack to. Was a cab driver and would not sleep for days. Days and nights. I'd sit at the bar till around 11 and then I would go get in the cab. I am living at the salvation army now...” The world tells it's story like a addict bastard cabby. Bombed and fucking poor whores in the back seat of the civilized world.
Post apocalyptic addictions services officer Fred Drunken smiles in a godly manner, his brain half exposed due to savage post apocalyptic disease. Destruction of the worlds society was no party. Worlds manic thousand year mania subsides in anti orgasmic dread. Thousands dead, millions maimed, the worlds never going to be the same.
Drunken is dressed in a leather bomber jacket. Sun glasses with no glass. Flip-flops. Junky physic is common in these years. After the worlds break up. The isolation of the worlds orbit. There is only so much time left and everything seems so pointless, and that is why drunken does his work with planetary depression and regret...
THE FLUE
out in the woods sick for days. Rain came down and rivers were made and a moat was made round the lean-too. The train tracks unused for years, over grown and rusted weeds unholy gardens on what was once god green earth. While one is sick to his stomach and puking blood and it's been raining for days it is hard not to think of religion. Religion was invented to make you feel better.
The flue is gone and god is in rule again. The rusty weeds have turned to flowers. Walks shakily in euphoric bliss of rebirth.......
realizing that he was completley alone to watch the rebirth of the life of the world. Found rocks and stacked them in the sunlight. Tryijng to get closer to the sky. Even though his thoughts were a lie. Even though it hurt him to think of the thought to try...
but the flue came back. The vomit was more bloody and rancid. Human body parts rotten came out an arm a leg a head—i thousand eyeballs....
death was a relief, but never had the belief that lasted, dies nothing....
Wind is picking up. A raw angst in the chest. Red blood shot intense eyes. Fred. A large tearful monster. Black clothing. Red hair. Black shoes. Bottles of beer. Broken conversations and glaring disapproving eyes of his girlfriend Suzanne.
“why you got to get like this?” Suzanne say tugging at his shirt.
“it's the booze...” said one of Suzanne's want to be saviors who followed her like a harem.
“fuck off chad” fred said as if chad was the worse name a person could have in the world.
“this not a fucking movie!” Suzanne screamed as she pulled Fred's hair.
Rain started falling and hitting the deck making a rapid shot bullet sound. This only intensified Fred's soul of angry that towered in his mind above all.
This is the poetry off love and life!
But love is a lie that was never was found!
Chad knows what he's doing but knows not why...
days later after the split when chad and Suzanne ate humus in the sunny backyard listening to music with no soul. Energetic nothing guitars going thought the motions of a song. The singer with ample talent but like a machine. The whole scene was a lie. Too easy too forced, passionless.
This is how thing are supposed to be like...
on a train track in the woods a fire at midnight. A can of beans and a Hemingway novel. Fred sits with a week growth. Sleeping bags around him. A ghetto blaster pumps out FEAR. Anarchist in black dirty sheen patched clothing and gruff voices expound dirty jokes about dirty sex in dirty places while dirty people smile with dirty faces. Back to nature in a way. The sad truth of progress the mess that is the world and the truth of his personal life mimicking the personal life of the world. The world is an asshole drunk bastard.
This is what things are supposed to be like...
don't run and don't hide and don't settle and don't fight...
BOMB SHELTER WORKERS
“I'm an alcoholic. I was in to the crack to. Was a cab driver and would not sleep for days. Days and nights. I'd sit at the bar till around 11 and then I would go get in the cab. I am living at the salvation army now...” The world tells it's story like a addict bastard cabby. Bombed and fucking poor whores in the back seat of the civilized world.
Post apocalyptic addictions services officer Fred Drunken smiles in a godly manner, his brain half exposed due to savage post apocalyptic disease. Destruction of the worlds society was no party. Worlds manic thousand year mania subsides in anti orgasmic dread. Thousands dead, millions maimed, the worlds never going to be the same.
Drunken is dressed in a leather bomber jacket. Sun glasses with no glass. Flip-flops. Junky physic is common in these years. After the worlds break up. The isolation of the worlds orbit. There is only so much time left and everything seems so pointless, and that is why drunken does his work with planetary depression and regret...
THE FLUE
out in the woods sick for days. Rain came down and rivers were made and a moat was made round the lean-too. The train tracks unused for years, over grown and rusted weeds unholy gardens on what was once god green earth. While one is sick to his stomach and puking blood and it's been raining for days it is hard not to think of religion. Religion was invented to make you feel better.
The flue is gone and god is in rule again. The rusty weeds have turned to flowers. Walks shakily in euphoric bliss of rebirth.......
realizing that he was completley alone to watch the rebirth of the life of the world. Found rocks and stacked them in the sunlight. Tryijng to get closer to the sky. Even though his thoughts were a lie. Even though it hurt him to think of the thought to try...
but the flue came back. The vomit was more bloody and rancid. Human body parts rotten came out an arm a leg a head—i thousand eyeballs....
death was a relief, but never had the belief that lasted, dies nothing....
