Life is No Way to Treat an Animal
Burn it! Burn it! Burn it! I can't wait till this world is laid to waste.
I am ecstatcic to report that I am free of STD's. Would anyone like to see a chemically burned scrotum? Because I've got one.
I got "shopped" at work the other day, and scored a 75. So. I got written up. I hate that bullshit. I always did really bad on those when I worked at Randalls too. It feels like fucking sabotage. My biggest ambition in life is just to be able to do things how I want them done without getting shit from every fucker that thinks they're better than me, and I'm fucking sick of it.
And really, I'm fucking sick of everything else, too.
Is it just me, or have all my friends turned weird or retarded or something? It just seems like, when I listen to people talk, they're just...I don't know. Like they're all in on a joke that I'm not. They're all laughing and I don't get what's so funny. Or they're fighting and I just can't understand what the big deal is. Or they're hooking up and I am all alone and I'm not sure if I'm just not what they want or even if they are what I want.
It's the more delicate abstractions of human behaviour that I don't comprehend.
I look forward to peace. I look forward to hiding away in my room where I don't feel like I'm onstage anymore. "Feal."
Looking for Something Else
In my mouth
there's the hollow taste of leaves
and my eyes shift to follow
a man walking down the street
and he's talking to himself
and tracing the malnourished sihouettes
of gaurdian angels in the air
and though I cannot hear his words
I know exactly what he's saying:
"I wonder if God is going to
kill me
today?"
and he looks to the sky
as he waits
for the answer
but I watch as the last
ember of my cigarette
falls onto the ground
of this empty parking lot
facing the abortion clinic
3 blocks north of
3rd ward where
junkies score rock
and pushers push
and crackheads crack
and every one of us
is thinking the same thing:
"I wonder if God is going to
kill me
today?"
But he traces
angels with his fingers
against the sky above.
I am ecstatcic to report that I am free of STD's. Would anyone like to see a chemically burned scrotum? Because I've got one.
I got "shopped" at work the other day, and scored a 75. So. I got written up. I hate that bullshit. I always did really bad on those when I worked at Randalls too. It feels like fucking sabotage. My biggest ambition in life is just to be able to do things how I want them done without getting shit from every fucker that thinks they're better than me, and I'm fucking sick of it.
And really, I'm fucking sick of everything else, too.
Is it just me, or have all my friends turned weird or retarded or something? It just seems like, when I listen to people talk, they're just...I don't know. Like they're all in on a joke that I'm not. They're all laughing and I don't get what's so funny. Or they're fighting and I just can't understand what the big deal is. Or they're hooking up and I am all alone and I'm not sure if I'm just not what they want or even if they are what I want.
It's the more delicate abstractions of human behaviour that I don't comprehend.
I look forward to peace. I look forward to hiding away in my room where I don't feel like I'm onstage anymore. "Feal."
Looking for Something Else
In my mouth
there's the hollow taste of leaves
and my eyes shift to follow
a man walking down the street
and he's talking to himself
and tracing the malnourished sihouettes
of gaurdian angels in the air
and though I cannot hear his words
I know exactly what he's saying:
"I wonder if God is going to
kill me
today?"
and he looks to the sky
as he waits
for the answer
but I watch as the last
ember of my cigarette
falls onto the ground
of this empty parking lot
facing the abortion clinic
3 blocks north of
3rd ward where
junkies score rock
and pushers push
and crackheads crack
and every one of us
is thinking the same thing:
"I wonder if God is going to
kill me
today?"
But he traces
angels with his fingers
against the sky above.