Author’s note: This post was originally drafted six or seven weeks ago, and got derailed by the incident where my intentions were (more or less gently) bitchsmacked down in a private text thread.
Having at length recovered, I finally edit and publish it here as the final pair of episodes in Getting Caught Up, and leaving the Spill once more clean and free to be the fresh blank page it was always intended to be.
Enjoy … or not, so as to the desires of your heart.
***
Dreamed again, like … nightly military raids … This time I was eighteen.
I dreamed again. This time the keyboardist was God Himself, and me, I was God too, and a criminal painter and the breath of life who Never left her hollow. I know, crazy, right?
I rolled over and felt the old man prostate groan with piss. Let it out and saith unto him: Let The Day Begin.
So I got up and had a surreal sugarpoison cream soda to settle me down and for a minute I almost felt Well again, like I could care again
about the Welfare: of all you boys and girls.
Then like a damn fool, instead of stepping outside to look at the moon I opened up the laptop than runs Linux instead of the right proper OSX and watched another video. I know.
It was that fucking Roseanne, straight out of nightmares, claiming she has proof that Hollywood is full to the brim with babyeating vampires. I wish I was but I am not lying.
YOU’RE NOT HELPING YOU MAGA BITCH
At least, not my sanity, but maybe it will turn out that you actually are helping, to save the babies from the necrophilic likes of Leo and Kevin and well I got my doubts about Taylor, like the skunk that ate the cat food, like the slaves on dope. Why don’t you tell me: who’s on the phone?
It’s so hard to tell. Maybe I really have gone full clear around the bend this time.
Around, It’s kinda pretty here the leaves, the stream, the mad perfect autumn weather Get Away
From That Fridge NOW. Sorry. I don’t … want to work. I just wanna bang. On the drum allday.
But why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lions in the cage, how they growl; they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet I say unto you, that Bezos in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Waking hallucinations aside. I have some advice for you, from here on the far shores of an imprecisely stilted and inflamed consciousness.
As far as art goes, whether we’re talking landscape portraiture or divine piano, look, do whatever the hell you wanna do. Now is the time where you can do anything, everything you do, anything, still gonna turn out
Great.
i mean you
got the world
at your feet an-if it’s a dirty song well someone’s gotta sing it it may as well be you, of all people.
Day of judgement, god is calling,
on their knees the war pigs crawling.
Begging mercy for their sins,
Satan, laughing, spreads his wings.
A girl a boy can dream, you know, Again.
.,.
Listen, you shut your mouth, how can you say?
we care a lot, about Anne-tranny or not and I still I just
don’t know what this all means to me
something could change