Whispered Dirty Vocals [into mic.]
There used to be a time when you and I succumbed to being ‘’’down with our demons.’
I told you ‘Life is Shit, then you Die, then you get back up again.’
They leave out the last part.
Just like you.
The Man with Every Answer and you’ll betray, disavow, degrade, and abandon all those ideologies
Just to see if we move as quickly as we used to when Life was Exciting.
Laughing at Spy Movies and writing Thrillers to temper volleys of
Not understanding what we had been through.
My paranormal movies of demonic possession look tame to Old Stories
When no Ozone Layer made every
Manor haunted in unseen fugues
And Messy-Endings.
Thank goodness, we left to clean up.
You burn the Trash (in a safe way.)
I recycle What’s of Use.
You map out a stupid 20 year plan and I accomplish your 20-year plans in 2 weeks to 2 months
And 2 rings on my two-of-twos for you, dude.
What goalpoint did you make under such insanity quakes,
That my happiness is your velvet.
And your blues is my reason to fuck over another counter-coutoure
Mocking, immature – Youth.
Let the Old Dogs that never really retire reach a’new.
We created it.
I didn’t ask for talent.
I asked you to master it in your own style.
And you still can’t sing a tune.
We know people for that.
They’re pretty Hip with the Youth.
They even look young…somehow in legalities.
But most theorize, otherwise.
Ancient Redwood-Cutter at the Quarry, huh?
I’ve climbed up some Water Towers before.
Only to jump down before you when the Dogs start barking
And we still got et.
We turn them into wolves and make em sing like birds in cages.
Only to see what maelstrom is gonna entertain the travesty of existence.
Immortal Truth.
Gold Forever.
Even if silver-skin suits your friendly-hauntings.
Stop fucking with the coffee dear, you’re gonna make an enemy out of the mornings and we’ll have to retreat back to night and walking
In darkness
Amongst orange street lamps to light the near-death experience of walking to my
Antique Blue matte-sheen gleam and
Wrestle up some simple food for the
Gigagantic String Bean Fool.
Thank God, we didn’t garden this Summer.
We get to spend much more time together that way.
Like when we self-plan at the bleeding cancer out of the 3-month mosquito bites on my legs.
Only a corpse of a man that lived underwater part-time full-shift for 17 years could really get
The need for privacy in Life.
You respect mine and leave Easter Eggs otherwise.
Bite the virus, dear.
You love when I cook Ancient Greek Cuisine. There’s always a shower before dinner.
And many, many, many –
Matinee Mini-Meals. [together.]
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