Better sick

Face down in the gutter and our third fucking pitcher of guinness (each) is coming up foam and fury while the meat packing district does their best transgressive dance as the suits move in and the queens descend on wallets, cocks and the father's who abandoned their dreams in youth.

I'm not sure where rob is. last i saw he was putting the slurs on some toothless woman.

It's christmas. new year's. i don't know already but he has the fucking keys and we're not going anywhere until he gets his shit together or gets the last of his bravado kicked out his hulking dick.

I don't care. i hate him. i hate the world. i hate me in it. i close my eyes and reach a dream when i feel a whisper on my neck.

"Oh, honey. it looks like you actually need this a lot more than little old me."

I crack open an inch. there's a finger in my face. a long white line along a manicured hand come down from heaven to release me of the village fucking idiot and take my motion to the streets.

I breathe in and my brain sets fire.

But by the time i'm to my feet my angel's gone to the rest of her evening and rob's tongue is curling the gums of some filthy homeless lips.

King and Queen of Winter.mp3

Hesitation plays

Let this be the start. the mark. the call that sets the trumpet force in motion and brings us to the next part of living wherein we finally get the hippie shit, the anarchists, the punks, the cops, the squares and the long drawns all in one big rolling smile that would've painted us a jackass if it weren't for this notion that there was just enough love song lurking underneath to make it seem that we could.

We can.

We will.

Forge our silly little sanctuaries day for night and back to the old believing there's a fucking rapture welling up and we'd be damned to let it down.

Former Babies.mp3