Kill The Sky

It's times like these that I either feel like making an extended and extremely witty list, swearing out a lot of people for cathartic purposes, or puking up my guts.

Probably going to be the last one, as the poem...whatever...thing I was working on just dissolved itself into a couple dozen scattered and pointless lines. While other blogger poets may try to get away with that, not me, nossir, I have a reputation for straight-up well-done mediocre poetry and I'm going to keep it like that.

My immune system's been haywire. I'm starting to think whoever put together my system wasn't just utterly insane, but hell-bent on making strange things happen to me all my life.

I require soup. Of course, I'm not much of a forward thinker, so I already ate all the soup in the house earlier this week. Apparently there's garlic bread and tortilla chips and some sandwich rudiments around. Plus a bucket of KFC that Moses might have partaken of.

Jeez louise, Moses, save some chicken for the rest of us.

Ahh, I've just said jeez louise. The power of decongestants rides within me once more! Soon I'll have one of those explosive-decompression nosebleeds and lie on my floor alternating between laughing and thinking incredibly fatalistic thoughts. Fun.

I was going to formulate a list of things that I wouldn't miss about Lansing and then the things I would. I really need to get out of this place. If only because my stagnant social situation resembles a Mexican soap opera on crack meets a Britcom. Which is to say everyone is pompous, absurd, the women are noisy and pointlessly melodramatic, and I'm never quite sure what the hell is going on but I'm likely to hear someone yelling at me in Spanish. All right, that last part isn't true, but I'd really appreciate it, because it would be something new. Same old patterns for as far as I can see.

Chicago. Land of the rising sun. Wait, that's Japan. Well damn, I'll take Chicago to Japan. That'll make me right. No problem for a demi-god. You know, I've always thought INXS was far better than The Cure, and I think that makes me a heretic. I'm a sly old heretic. Can you be a heretic and a demi-god? I hope so. I don't need your Jesus. I need feeHEEeelings. I hate that song. Right now I have that disturbing NIN version of "In Da Club" on and I'm wondering what sort've drugs a person had to do to come up with that.

Because I want some. Though, I'm starting to feel a bit scattered. Not like, you know, Legos, I mean, I'm just feeling a bit off. As opposed to on. Not like a kill-switch though. I'm fairly certain I don't have one of those. I am not a machine! Just an organic pain collector dissolved into improperly placed cellular structures. That's a very unpleasant machine right there. Now I want a torture machine. Just something I don't even have to work with, just something I could shove some mouthy self-righteous person into and then leave, and come back to gobbets. And let me tell you, gobbets has a finality you can't achieve with machete, a day off, and a work ethic.

I'm thinking I have to throw in something about robots raping cowboys but I wasn't reading Burroughs today, I was reading Glamorama and trying to figure out if Bret Easton Ellis was sucking at the whole writing thing or not. I think he is, but I think he's making a good show of it, so I can forgive. Though Less Than Zero was just a failure. Or maybe I'm not west coast enough for that sort've thing. Damm it all. I need to spend less time in bookstores. At least around here. Although truth be told I haven't been spending much time doing anything these days. Writing and not using half of it, sitting around at home not even drinking heavily, just doing...nothing.
Makes me think about high school. Makes me wonder just what it is I have been doing this whole time. I wasn't in any clubs, or anything extracurricular, or really, doing anything. zbut really, I do have friends. Just like when asked if I had any friends, sure, I'd think about the people I hung out with the most, but really in the end there was a distinct lack of human compassion and warmth and actual connections being made. I blame m'self though so it's all good. The blank spots. What the did I do. Well I've got a fucking future now but it's hard not to be fatalistic. But what the hell. Where ...I lack for a legacy. Too busy being extraordinary to enjoy the ordinary things and work that into a Joe Walsh joke. But it's there in spirit. I think blogger and my keyboard conspire to exaggerate all my angst and make me come off like even more of a drama nut self-obsessed kid than I really am. Well that's the internet for you.

Thanks, internet.

I'm thirsty. There's blood on my shirt.

I think I found a violin.

- the infamous