Inconvenient, sometimes, this nonsense of living. Opened a container of pasta salad and drops of water flicked up onto my face. Made me angry but I ate the pasta salad anyway. It didn’t deserve me. The salad itself is not responsible for the water but it should have warned me. The water drops came from freezer meltings. Now I sneeze uncontrollably, unexpectedly. I reserve a right to be angry about anything. I bristled at snot dripping out of a woman’s nose on the subway last week. She turned my tongue to flame but I contained it. There are creaks in my body that nourish my anger, make me happy in hate. Little by little, jar by jar I’m heading to a potter’s field. I learned the derivation of that term yesterday. From Judas throwing his blood money at the authorities. There’s a creature living inside me. Don’t let me forget that. Living in my ticking, resting in my tocking. Some days it vomits blood. Most days it simply stalks itself, thieving its movements for tentative decay. How am I left to my own attendance? Little pieces of hurt pile on, keep showing up. Irritates my vision. I need north. North needs me? Listen to the laundering of love. Listen to the lies. Love is a mountain of lies. I’m an intellectual pornographer, on top of a carnal performer. She wanted more and I gave it but her intentions were not serious enough for me. She’s rancid fruit in a community refrigerator.
- Payphone Radio
- Photos and Scans