Hakan Sover Naken
Chappaqua
Those neon New York lights flashing, blinking and glaring out the messages, pumping them out, of the places for poison and the buildings for booze. A lone Marlboro cowboy walking through the Timely Square looking for a nicotine feast in the middle of Mojave. This is the most barren state in all of the USA, out here, away from anywhere else. On one side, the lights blinking in one half. Then come the mechanics to twist light bulbs and replace it all with twinkling inspirations. Far out. It’s making a green curtain, and it moves like a fish. Dances like a fish.
Dust down the throat
Spinning Cadillac wheels in the sandy asphalt, off to pick up some magic prescription that’ll fix ‘arthritis.’ Yeah. Sure. You’ll probably just take it and run off to the Mayan ruins to stare directly into the sun. Burn your eyes out…make sure to bring a telescope. I’ll sit cool and cozy someplace else, nice and shady-like.
“No, honest, swear to God, nothing going to go wrong with this one.”
“I’d hope so. Nervous is…not good.”
“Sure thing.”
And then he runs out of the office. The guy looked like someone who worked at the bleach factory, with bourgeois blue jeans. Can’t tell whether or not this guy is legit; can’t tell whether or not his constant reassurance of ‘no screw-ups’ is just a veil. What were those signs that show people are lying again…?
Shit.
I GOT BLISTERS ON MA FINGERS
The Marlboro cowboy’s still searching, and he’s still running off with the arthritis medicine. Call it a premonition. What’s he going to do with the cash from the sale, given someone wants to buy the piece? No, he couldn’t find…anybody…
Ugh. Don’t trust the junkies.
QUESTION OF THE DAY: Do you save worms after it rains?
Those neon New York lights flashing, blinking and glaring out the messages, pumping them out, of the places for poison and the buildings for booze. A lone Marlboro cowboy walking through the Timely Square looking for a nicotine feast in the middle of Mojave. This is the most barren state in all of the USA, out here, away from anywhere else. On one side, the lights blinking in one half. Then come the mechanics to twist light bulbs and replace it all with twinkling inspirations. Far out. It’s making a green curtain, and it moves like a fish. Dances like a fish.
Dust down the throat
Spinning Cadillac wheels in the sandy asphalt, off to pick up some magic prescription that’ll fix ‘arthritis.’ Yeah. Sure. You’ll probably just take it and run off to the Mayan ruins to stare directly into the sun. Burn your eyes out…make sure to bring a telescope. I’ll sit cool and cozy someplace else, nice and shady-like.
“No, honest, swear to God, nothing going to go wrong with this one.”
“I’d hope so. Nervous is…not good.”
“Sure thing.”
And then he runs out of the office. The guy looked like someone who worked at the bleach factory, with bourgeois blue jeans. Can’t tell whether or not this guy is legit; can’t tell whether or not his constant reassurance of ‘no screw-ups’ is just a veil. What were those signs that show people are lying again…?
Shit.
I GOT BLISTERS ON MA FINGERS
The Marlboro cowboy’s still searching, and he’s still running off with the arthritis medicine. Call it a premonition. What’s he going to do with the cash from the sale, given someone wants to buy the piece? No, he couldn’t find…anybody…
Ugh. Don’t trust the junkies.
QUESTION OF THE DAY: Do you save worms after it rains?