Random Notes from a Suburban Derelict Vol. 2

I'm not sure what the suburbs have done for the writing but i do know what they've done for the drug use, of course that might be a lie cuz connections come and go and come again and the only real trick is keeping something on the line at all times dig? See i was sitting in rush hour traffic today and listening to this album and thinking about all the shit i could write, all the shit i have the seed for but not the will to water and i began daydreaming about when i was about six or so, it's about that time that i was hanging out in the garage and for some reason known only to me and a stray god or two i unplugged the gas can, you know the end that lets out of thin jet of air and right at that moment i stuck my face over it and i thought man does that smell kinda good, and so i continued to smell it not really knowing what i was doing but knowing that if felt sorta neat, of course it was also around this time that i discovered some of the old man's hippy porn, basically i call it that now cuz it was of the very soft core variety and featured naked women walking through fields or leading horses and embracing some long haired hippy dude, it was fucking weird except that when you are that young you're kind a fascinated by it, i'm sure my old man didn't even know he had it and so i hid it and began flipping through the pages and huffing gas, funny at such a tender age i was already a derelict and it wasn't as if momma didn't try she did, hell daddy sure tried to but what are you gonna do?  some of us are just fucked from the start...

and you see i got three books today, no not the Pynchon one i had my eye on but books by a Hungarian, a Chilean and a Frog, all gleaming in their dust jackets cuz i'm nothing if not refined when it comes to books, all while i'm reading a trilogy by a certain American master, i'll send you an Asshat Lounge bumper sticker if you can guess the authors, maybe, or maybe i'll use that bumper sticker to balance weed on while i roll joints in my car, who knows, but what is this about? nothing really, i'm bored and don't feel like watching the telly, see along time ago i had this basketball scholarship to a junior college in Wyoming and i was so fucking homesick that between pints of Jack Daniels and six packs of whatever tallboys were on special i took up making models, basically so i could sit in my room and sniff glue and soon i gave up the models all together and kept sniffing glue until the girls assistant coach hooked me up with some grass and then i  sorta tapered off on the glue, i was never one for industrial strength chemicals and shit, unless of course you count the glue and the gas but hey what red-blooded American boy doesn't do a little experimenting right?

and lately it's the grass that keeps my from the typer, to stoned and lazy to get up off the couch and i spend time listening to the television and staring at the sky lights in the rumpus room thinking about how much more productive i can be but then i listen to something like that poem below and say fuck it, made it this far and i seem to have a knack of when to know, see i was sitting across the table one day from this very beautiful woman, i was drinking Guinness and smoking cigarettes in a dark and dank dive and we were just talking but i couldn't help my mind from wandering, i mean i've got a good fucking imagination and of course i was thinking about going down on her but i'm getting off track, see we were talking and i was telling stories as i'm known to do and if you ever sit with me in a bar you'll find i can be a somewhat engaging storyteller and after running through some of the low lights she looked at me and asked if i had realized how interesting my life had been up to that point and i shrugged and said no, it's just my life, i thought i was fucking normal... but Jesus ain't this a train wreck, i'd be better off talking about this fat groundhog who lives behind my house who amuses me to no end, these fucking pills don't kick very hard but they scramble just enough to make me bang out incoherent drivel, of course they'll kick harder in the morning and make me want a coffee and a cigarette to keep from nodding out in the tunnels but that's the morning and tonight is not...

So there it is... a post about nothing, unless you count the opiated ramblings of a former industrial strength chemical huffer something, see i had an idea earlier but i'm fucking to tired to bother, i keep thinking about zombies and the fact i need laces for my boots and that how when i look in the mirror i'm really quite normal if one can discount the badgers strapped to the sides of my face, but there is Hank and he reminds me there is a light somewhere and it beats the darkness, i know it, i live by it, i know when the chances come, i know when to take those chances, i know that sometimes when i'm staring into that dark yet shiny sky and listen to myself breathe that it is all worth it, even out here in the wastelands of the suburbs, there is that light...