I’m attempting this post thru a foggy haze of NyQuil and the common cold, my head a congested slurpy machine. It’s 6 days into the new year and I’ve been pinned to the couch like a dead butterfly for most of them, the ridiculous irony being that my good friend was here for 3 of them to visit and showed up with the same affliction. I have no idea what’s behind that serendipity doo dah, but I was happy to have someone else in the trenches of the ‘nam, turning my living room into a triage infirmary. We also both shared the heavy crack pipe that is “Sons of Anarchy,” along with some cult classics from the 80’s such as:
…and some random documentaries such as:
…both of which I highly recommend.
Fret not, dear reader, as the drama and triumph that was theBurt Reynolds Auction will soon be detailed on this horseshit blog but for now let’s talk about “The Process.” There is an innumerable amount of failure when its comes to risk, especially in creative endeavors. Also, attempting art when you’re shit-housed. So with that in mind I’m going to share with you one such attempt. Quick back story-a dear friend of mine passed on into the ether last year who truly was the most realest motherfucker of all real motherfuckers, fucking up my head and heart in ways I hadn’t imagined. Well played, dickhead universe. Well played indeed. I wrote this “poem” one night in an alcohol fueled nebula which culminated in a supernova of bad spelling and grammar. I was drunk and angry, howling at the moon for my ethereal loss. It comes across as the frantic rantings of an insane person but there’s also some beauty-it’s some raw shit, motherfucker. Enjoy and remember-keep failing. It’s the only way we get any better. And fuck F. Scott Fitzgerald in his dead-ass butt. I may be misquoting him, but we all have a second act. Plus I just wanted to say “dead-ass butt.”
I want you to asked the dj to play I was made for loving you by kiss and welt have a couples only slow skate in my heart and we’ll hug and laugh and fart and shit and piss all over because we’re horribly flawed individuals living in an insane world that wants us to fail and will take pics of it and instagram and hashtag our failures and maybe make is celebrities for a day and turn us into royalty only for us to fall and be celebrated again as failures and mske everyone feel better because they never took s chance and settled for a slow and inebevitable tug job into ncomplacency. Then tell me not to pull the trigger even though in my head it’s a sleeping bag under the stars with a sandwich made by my mom so I can taste the love. Man I wanna pull the trigger.pull open my skull Nd dump whiskey all over it and it’ll short circuit and I’ll be the old guy who drank too much and died instead of the old guy who die