at one point you were a skunk

the rounded out sides of a hollowed out tree trunk
the occaisional glance of that woman over her shoulder in your general direction
were those middle eastern girls laughing at me...

of coaurse not


You are the same as everybody else. That crap Barney sang about you being special, just that. Decaying organic matter. Give off waste and use up energy. Just like the dead-beat dad, the crack whore, the amoeba, you chemstry instructor, gay stage actors, pigeons that never leave small towns they are born in. All the same. Energy or nothingness.

Like the tree you can be burned to the extent of your calories. Like the freshly brewed tea in the South, your body will reach a point of sugar saturation. Starch that makes your pleets sharp will later make your potatos delicious and your poop float.

there is no story here only the other stuff that is continuous and not subject to human wranglings and the odd subjection of opinion to rock critic style historical inaccuracies.

bad writing makes for bad timing when living in a city that manifests its own good fortune.

get right and go home.