Everything Burns

I write from the wild ire of humblest abodes, blue Suzuki gifted by pragmatic past, parked solemn wooded southern ditch. If only there were money for gas. All that’s left, blue tent, burnt skin, bug bites, life climbs kudzu vines, suffocating air, loud heat, weeks of rain, tent floods, now this. Solstice burns me every year. This one’s kundalini rage lonesome turmoil psychosis, physio-kundalini crooked spine.

Pink Noise

If I told myself the story of a lunatic eternally battling the disparate polarities of existential meaning and meaninglessness who could never find peace within or without being beaten, eaten alive, kicked in or kicked out, arrested for noise or bombarded by noise, the story could only be told pathetically and desperately or beautifully and hilariously.

On the Verge of 33

“I was thinking about the biological baggage leftover in our primordial brains and how our sentience has been a curse to every other species on earth, a puff of nonsense blowing easterly in the name of a personified cumulus cloud somewhere right beyond the horizon, naked baby just out of reach of the five senses that humans happen to occupy at any present moment, painted by one of the secretly gay renaissance artists for one of the secretly gay pedophile priests who would publicly burn gay people along with the women and the firewood which was called a faggot, you know, ‘Throw another faggot on the fire, Father. It’s getting quite chilly. Frigid, Father Judas. ’Tis frigid indeed.”

“I was thinking about how much better the world would be without any of that shit.”

Nashville Nazis

We were forced to Google the definition of gentrification, out of embarrassment, after our keyboard player friend said it 5 times at Portland Brew, and then we truly understood. East Nashville used to be, what wikipedia referred to as “cultured." There were, like, black people, brown people and other shades of black people and brown people too. Apparently “culture” is why East Nashville used to be a desirable place to live, and without the melting pot, there was no longer any “culture.” We feel more compassionate now that we know that, and we're proud of ourselves for thinking about it for a few minutes before refilling our cafe mocha lattes and posting about how not racist we are on the Facetube.