Living my life in a chemical haze and I can’t get the shit off my shoes. Trying to find the one who pays for me to sing the blues. And I am trapped, somewhere deep inside my head where visions of you are growing dim and then dead. Hope is a precious commodity now. I find I crave it more now than before, as I kick and scream and wail against the locked and boarded door. I’m calling to you from somewhere beyond what once I knew was me. And crying out for just a moment, let it stop, leave me be. My prose is dying. My memories too. And I just can’t seem to get the shit off my shoes. What could I have been in the time I have lost? Where would I be now? And what would I pay? How great a cost? For a moment away from this cloud. Desperate. Wanting. Angry. And broken. Learning now the true meaning of unfair. I’m screaming out and hoping to God that someone is really there. Praying to you about you. Praying my stories will someday be true, when I finally get the shit off my shoes. Walking shoes. Laced up to tight. And a marathon unable to run. I sit and scream against my will at the sound of the starting gun. But my excuse will come easy, the one I’ve rehearsed. As the beginning’s the end, I’ll be here first. I want also to run, against that excuse. If only I could just get this shit off my shoes.  ¶ 12:21 AM 0 comments

  Our world is so incredibly sign oriented. They are everywhere. Unconscious mediators for a world of flesh and blood robots, who need constant instruction. Yield, Do Not Turn, Walk, Don’t Walk, No soliciting, Keep Out, Exit Only….Eat at Joes. I think I’d like to make a million signs and sprinkle them evenly about the world… Big, beautiful reflective yellow signs, bordered in red, with dark black letters a foot tall each. Beautiful signs that declare in a silent but mighty voice three words...
BEWARE OF SIGNS.
  ¶ 4:46 PM 0 comments