Living Capriciously

I cough up blood. I cough up blood because when I was a kid I swallowed a Jack. I cough up blood almost every day because of my one little trip to the hospital. For a man of 21, this is not good.

I’m standing in a post office, built around the 1970’s. Faded documents are hung on the wall to display their approvals. On the east side of the building there’s a long list of names. Coligraphy pen dates the first name from 1873. I am deeply saddened by this discovery because I know this wasn’t written on that specific day.
A aging woman with incredibly dark hair spends more time chewing gum than listening to what I’m saying. Her glasses flicker in the florescent light as I repeat myself for the third time.
“I need some medication!” I’m nearly shouting at this point, blinded by frustration.
“If you’re ordering medication you’ve come to the wrong place son.”
At his point I begin wheezing and hacking into my sleeve. My eyes lose focus and I eject a small amount of snotty blood on the counter. The room is silent.
“May I get my medication please?”

My brother is driving the car. “All of this damn construction just gets me depressed. I can’t even stand to look out the window.” He can’t even stand to look out the window because he knows he lost his only woman years ago. The sky no longer serves any purpose.

I am whispering a prayer…

Believe this!

"You guys know that new show 'Desperate Housewives'? Well what if it was about cats… so instead of 'Desperate Housewives' it would be 'Desperate for Nine Lives'."

Batteries

In sixteen seconds, everything in my car was stolen. The hair dryer, plastic bag, trombone, corn on the cob, and newborn kitten were all taken. I stood in disbelief, wondering if what I was looking at was real or not. I blinked twice to realize that it was not. I got in the car and drove away.

Heaven

This mind found no solace in a creeping, sleeping will o' wisp. My feet carried my tired body across the empty beach in hopes of finding some lost part of my memory. The night was cold and the ocean birthed mysterious lights that rivaled the stars.

I thought of Carrie, and wondered why she would run into the fire knowing full well that it was hollow and empty. The lights over the water glowed brighter. I remembered what she said to me, seconds before the licking flame engulfed her figure. Her voice was soft and kind, like a mother cooing to a child. She said to my shaking head, "It doesn't make any difference what the fire does, it's what it is. Every flame knows the same story, but significance shows its face when death is inches away."
The fire burned her body quickly.
As I considered those words, the now blinding light was dancing across the water's surface. It was remarkable. The sheer beauty of it took my breath away. I pulled my coat tighter and called out to her, "Come home my dear!" The light stopped moving and hovered low over green sea. I froze in fear. Perhaps it was the biting wind, but I suddenly found myself incapable of moving. The light sat eerily still, haunting and beautiful in its own way.
Without warning, it shot up toward the stars, producing a humming sound on its skyward journey. It brought a tear to my eye, but I thought it silly to cry over such a thing. Heaven engulfed the speck of light with open arms, and it seemed appropriate to wave farewell.
I walked home alone, but found a trace of heaven strewn throughout the street. Paper lay everywhere. I picked up a shard and knew from the word inscribed on it that this was a gift from her. She had written a single word,
"Home".

of 22 wolves

Of 22 wolves, only the youngest, and most brash, returned with a challis of fire. He read aloud the ancient words of Incro-Falance. Quickly afterword, his dad destroyed all of his CD’s inches in front of his contorted face. A scream erupted from the young wolf’s heart, but the only noise he made was a whisper: “Tumblr…”

Heavy the Growl

I was in fact, a murdered butcher's boy. A son, caught in the fire of another man's dangerous idea. I died in 22 hours, after bidding the doctor's note farewell. I saw all my teacher's & classes, fulfilled each & every wish. But to cut the call a short, another short, a shot, hot shot of tens of tens. The lens. A fringe on the edge of hoods & beams. I was the son of a madman, but the madman was me. I say that in the least artistic form possible, I must remind you, I'm dead.

Ten Blank Stares

Ten Blank Stares facing the neglected spot on the back of my head. I swear to God, every single time I step foot into that side of my brain, something is watching. Not a jest!

What I mean, of course, is that each and every time I record music something is watching me. Yes, I'll admit, I'm that much of a jackass. Recording an album seems possible, so why not jump for it? Like I said, I'm that much of a jackass. I jumped. Passion and cosmetic paints are two completely different things. I'm hoping to adorn the former, but that's not going as planned. I hear something, and think: "That's me! Other princes don't stand a chance." Technicality is harder than it looks, or, sounds. Rather. Indeed, the album is well on its way to finishing tying its shoes.

On another token, a colorful array of tapestries were sewn on my recent trip to the beach. Such tapestries were in fact jokes! Many many joshes. Joshua. Ill to be repeted, might I add. Save with a sword in hand.

Before I pass away from bombast, the truth must emerge. I am sick.