Not for Her Father

I’m full of bad decisions.  Visage of a saint from another time, I often feel the echo of a better man ring through me, as if to test the barriers of a breaking way.  And all this love for just a moment.

I know I want to be a writer but what will I say to you when I stand in front of your eyes and we finally see each other.  Its still uncertain, will I tell my own tale of a cowboy riding up the verge of the universal nexus like the Dark Tower or will I write comedies to translate the obscenely offended mental energies that wrap themselves around my life at a day job?

There are things my life has taught me.  But has it taught me to be better without always trying to be worse?  Mostly I’ve learned I have the tendency to get too drunk and mean like every other gutless worm.  Wake up in a worm hole with all the other worms, numbered, to ponder the air above the dirt.  But in the heat of the great tiny failures, I fuck it up…

I hook the eagle of my desires bloody and stop the soaring.

Its senseless to stand in my own way because I point a finger at the world every time before finally locking eyes with myself on a Monday morning, wishing I’d have had the courage to fear a little bit less.

The fear to be better.

How I found myself on a Friday night, alone, drunk, happy drunk, roaming the streets of the lecherous crocodile LES…looking for a drug dealer.

Not looking, found, a black male with glasses, upright in a hoody.  Odd character in a washed up hoody, that’s THE sketch of the person that shoots you in the back at a convenience store.

This kid, he talked in a funny way.  His voice was stern, he marketed  his deal with every pack of white males that floated by, “Coke, Coke, Molly, Molly, try before you buy.”  He almost wasn’t human, in fact he wasn’t, he was an enigma, an idea, a shadow that pick pockets your dreams.

“My name is James.”

All I can remember is he said the same line to me, “Try before you buy, TRY before you BUY, try BEFORE you buy.” And I was like, “I trust you, I trust you man, lets do this.”

People have been murdered for less.  My stupidity was shining, I was a glazy wreck in the rain, smiles, and whispers of friendship to the resident rat and criminal.

I gave him my business card, that kills me also, a card of which I had recently made to spread my name in the entertainment industry.

I gave a drug rat my card.  How telling, networking with the devil son.  And the Devil’s late born took good care to steal my information, to take my card, to take every penny out of the account.

But he was kind enough to slap the bunk coke in my left hand beforehand.

I woke up the next morning wondering why all my wonderful nights, with my mistress, my alcohol, have ended like cupcakes of fire fucking pain.  The cake being the light foamy presence of a  guy needing to drink to relax.  The frosting being the abuse, the anger, the regret, trust in all the wrong places, trust in everything and everywhere

but myself.

Its making a mistake a thousand billion times that makes me nod quietly to the powers of suicide.

(If you’re reading this MSG, fuck you.  Fuck you for reading my blog and not painting.)

But Life goes on.  I am not weak, I am the blind samurai.

Its a beautiful Sunday in NYC but this city isn’t paradise, this is that other place, the place that scares gods with its ability to bring so much order, brick by molecule by brick to unyielding chaos.

And lastly I owe an apology to my angel, the shinning one, the winged majesty of my mountain, when I see you today it will be the first time I’ve looked at god all weekend.

 

 

 

 

 

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