throw your money in the wind and wake with a mouthfull of ash
killing slugs between my fingers. carrying soft and rotted pieces of wood that will never burn to a fire. my name is forgotten by everyone. as i bend over, presenting my hand, the dog snarls and tears at my fingers with gnashing yellow teeth. i scream but everyone else laughs.
errk brings me to willie nelsons place to get drunk with college photography students. spitting out corn kernels as a final sad attempt to dull the taste of fake oranges. long talks about imaginary borders and what they do to people talking about those borders. sitting on the floor i listen to stories of people in new england desperately clutching the traditions of people who have long been dead. like the fish swimming in the river fighting the currents that desperately want to bring them to someplace new. we all look to the past for a place to live, when the past will never exist. a small round faced girl sits next to me, asks me what i do. "people are so fucking amazing! watch this. . ." she points to errk playing guitar and the boys sitting around him drunkenly nodding and she unravels the scene with such eloquence it was as if she controlled them. "see, watch, hes gonna look up and his jaw will sag and when he does that the boy next to him will bob his head faster and take a drink . . ." they did exactly that. it was amazing. then someone threw a rocking horse at her face. then she stood up, told me to go move to the desert, and walked into the other room where she fell on the floor. errk and i ride around in the rain for a while and spend too long being loud and drunk in exxon until the cops show up.
meanwhile at 4 in the morning my father wakes before the first bird even starts singing. he sits up and gets ready to go to work. i wish i could tell him to go back to sleep, dont worry about going to work today. but he just stands in the bathroom and stares at the mirror.
so many memories coming now. where did they all go. swept away and forgotten with my hair, my body fat, my complexion, my friends and all the shots on a stained and greasy table.
errk brings me to willie nelsons place to get drunk with college photography students. spitting out corn kernels as a final sad attempt to dull the taste of fake oranges. long talks about imaginary borders and what they do to people talking about those borders. sitting on the floor i listen to stories of people in new england desperately clutching the traditions of people who have long been dead. like the fish swimming in the river fighting the currents that desperately want to bring them to someplace new. we all look to the past for a place to live, when the past will never exist. a small round faced girl sits next to me, asks me what i do. "people are so fucking amazing! watch this. . ." she points to errk playing guitar and the boys sitting around him drunkenly nodding and she unravels the scene with such eloquence it was as if she controlled them. "see, watch, hes gonna look up and his jaw will sag and when he does that the boy next to him will bob his head faster and take a drink . . ." they did exactly that. it was amazing. then someone threw a rocking horse at her face. then she stood up, told me to go move to the desert, and walked into the other room where she fell on the floor. errk and i ride around in the rain for a while and spend too long being loud and drunk in exxon until the cops show up.
meanwhile at 4 in the morning my father wakes before the first bird even starts singing. he sits up and gets ready to go to work. i wish i could tell him to go back to sleep, dont worry about going to work today. but he just stands in the bathroom and stares at the mirror.
so many memories coming now. where did they all go. swept away and forgotten with my hair, my body fat, my complexion, my friends and all the shots on a stained and greasy table.