AwBreakfast of Champions  a couple of raw organic eggs cracked into his mouth as his oatmeal cooked(wheres cold pizza when you really want it)

                      then walking from the kitchen to the studio through the livingroom he saw he didnt finish his beer from last night Done  Christ  didnt finish the last of the whisky he was sipping eitherDone   slipping  though to be fair he was pretty beat eight hours on his feet at work after a substantial workoutwha was he thinking   he finished a bowl of vegetable soup topped with tofu and shelled edamame  something light it was late  then sipped a beer and a shot while catching Les Revenants on Netflix  subtitles never scared him off   and it seemed European Asian sensibilities Old World morals perhaps titillated him  he read throughout the day and wrote so reading at the night was legit  foreign tongues were such like jazz music was to his ears while he wrote

last thing he needed was lyrics while he wrote

                                  he bought stamps at the post office  the clerk asked why he bought as many as he did and he said  Well no one ever writes back  so I write purposefully to fucking irritate them  force them to read the written language  change it up from their emales and texting  those shitty shortcuts shorthand those fucking emoticons  Christ I hate them  my birthday wish the last two years is that those shitty little things dont stick when theyre applied to texts and social media  the social media which helped finger us in the ass with the degenerate sitting in the white house  I wont call it the White House  calling it that while hes in residence defames Presidents Lincoln Roosevelt Obama any president one might look up to with respect   Man I wouldnt walk across the street to piss on him if he were on firea guy can wishcant he

he finally made his studio fired up his computer and began writing in Word transcribing from pen and paper the last itch he had to scratch

he was scratching more than he was used to

scratching his headpuzzled  bemused   scratching his ass as he remembered monkeys now dead scratching theirs at Brookfield or Lincoln Parkbecause they had time on their hands and inside of cages it was hard to find a place out of the way out from under watching eyes(fucking surveillance – Its for your safety and security – From what? – just more whores making money off legislation that legislators get kickbacks on) to scratch their asses  So fuck it Watch me scratch my ass Poke your rude finger Get close enough Ill show you a trick Ive perfected  Im a deadeye when it comes to slinging shit  Just a tad bit closer A bit more  a bit more  BAM!  You can wipe the shit off your face and out of your hair but baby that stink aint going anywhere

yeah  he was scratching either end more than he cared

but what the fuck!  like a wheelchair-bound man he knows often says  Excuse me all to hell  Im just trying to live in your world  your world   Your World     these anonymous clowns tumble out of a miniature clown car in the center ring under a Big Top and get carried away believing that the ring is theirs   forget therere rules theyre transitory   forget theyre part of a continuing narrative  and sometimes the narrative sucks and is like a spastic colon that shits itself and needs someone else eventually to come along and clean up their mess(he could only wish theyd bid they were retarded such a good alibi  and the retarded wouldnt take offense because theyre retarded and they couldnt understand(what was everyone elses excuse?)

it aint the country he grew up in

his parents took offense when he wrote in their letters  cuntry   they were for some reason caught up in the fiction that they raised him better that only coarse people used coarse language and he wasnt coarse

of course he was coarse  by their own matrix if he called the country cuntry then of course he was coarse  Correct

No  Youre our son   that was unfortunately a poor defence  part of that swirling miasma and fog that steeped their eyes and aligned them to their fiction of his innocent boyhood  not his manhood

Hear what I say  Read what I write  Thats who I am  Its true  Its not hyperbole  And dont hear or read it thinking Im going to spare your feelings  I dont spare anyones feelings when it comes to the truth

but still they clung to some thing they devised that was arrested and undeveloped  and untrue

it seemed that to call it fiction wasnt sufficient to chase them off their point

they were like big black crows sitting on the shoulders of a straw scarecrow twined to a cross   oblivious

but they werent the only people who preferred oblivion

he didnt quite like the texture and taste and smell of oblivion  hence he wasnt oblivious

he tried his damnedest to be Obvious

but he supposed sunglasses and blinders hid his Obviousness  and friends and families went their course 

and he went his

1628,  Monday,  13  2. 17

1437 days or less remain

David Bowie  Lazarus (“Aint that just like me?”)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-JqH1M4Ya8