your money for nothing. your chicks for free.

a collection of riff raff

I’m so fucking moist right now.

Seven, it’s almost always seemed

Such an appropriate number

Not quite 8 or 12, but more than 6

6 seems to fall short

Where 8 and 12 are plenty enough

I’ve also never

Been balanced in an even level

In a place where

7 seems to be the answer

2-4-6-8 I’ve never had patience for this

I remember, as a child

Walking into a gas station

And stealing several pieces of gum

It could have been seven

But it seems it could have been a lot more

The attendant knew what it was

Everyone was doing 

We’d all have our adolescent rush

Before we ever needed intoxicants

But it set a catalyst 

7 seconds

7 long years

They say your psyche changes

It will do so every 7 years

I’ve lived 7 four times

My existence seems to change in multiples of 3

But 7 seems unusually comfortable

And accurate

In a world

Where 2+2=5

I could tell you of the first time I recall

Being 7

Almost falling into that open well

Watching Top Gun

Wasn’t Tom Cruise alright back then?

I was seventeen exactly once

I remember 

How nice it was to drive

A 1997

A foreign car

Very much 17 years old now

Just as I was then

We had a simple tranquility

Probably always will

PG-13 became socially acceptable

At 7

Where NC-17

Became alright at 13

Perhaps ages



All become irrelevant at some

Point of our conflict of 7 years

I’m terrified of 35

Though it doesn’t sound like 7 at all

We learned the math that it is

Back when we were 7

I hope to one day become 49

That is 7 times 7

I think, perhaps, the wisest age

The wine that sat in the cellar

Just long enough

To realize 

That all numbers mean nothing

At all

and at times i might be gentle. don’t mean that i’m a gentleman.

“.:(go to) sleep:.
Black hours
Dreams more lucid than reality
I pull the blankets over my head, morning is coming
I’ve yet to sleep
The days tick by
8 hours of sleep, 12 if you’re lucky
Ripping pages out of my notebook
Throwing them into a trash bin at a bus stop
Maybe somebody will dig them up and discover
What it must be like to know anything at all
To know what it’s like to be on the moon
To feel the blood course through your veins
To change everything in the atmosphere
To deplete all oxygen
To suffer for that moment
Atop the highest mountain
Buried beneath the deepest sea
I took a walk to visit the loneliest person on the planet
He told me
In hushed tones
How it must feel to know nothing
To not acknowledge light
Or the breeze
Or the heat from the sun
How exhilarating it must be
To feel absolutely nothing
As everything around you turns to ash
We held hands and contemplated this
I felt the neglect of consciousness
Never wondering what to say
Or how to feel
Or what conclusion to come to thereafter
A deprivation chamber could
Dream no such beauty
I left my body the next morning
I fully intended on returning to it
After I completed a few errands
Everything I saw that day was grey
And beautiful
And meaningless
I suppose I must have been distracted
Maybe part of me was drawn away
Never to return
To the vibrance of oranges, blues, greens and reds
To the feeling of cool water on my face
A soft brush of warmth
A gentle nudge of support
A closed door
I feel like it’s been a century now
The part of me that returned no longer knows
Where it is the better half went that day
Gone for a walk
Never to be seen again
Posters have been hung
Rewards offered
Maybe it was an act of self-preservence
I’ve come to acceptance with his absence
I feel, most days, he doesn’t want to be found
Forever loitering in the subconscious
Of an existential hoax
Longing for sleep.”


Buzz over to Les Beehive
just dicking around