(no subject)

[eyeofbassman]

Two tranquil windows sans blinds tile the far whitewash of the room, overlooking an alleystreet in a shitty neighborhood with no good looks-- two desks sit with chair backs facing one another on opposite walls, tucked beneath a computer some pens fizzled papers a couple dead keyboards, dustoff never put to decent use one lonely garagesale typewriter spilling out a couple rolls of legal staff next to a spectral amphetamine inhaler and matching lamps from thrift. One door extends next two each, rampant bedrooms coaxed with empty beer cans empty wine bottles 5ths line each skeptical window without a screen bare mattresses deserted garbage bags unlocked trustworthy doors holes in the plaster all over from late night berserker riots fists and some blood smears transfixed on broken bones n hearts and whadya say that for I thought we were brothers?-- fighting for the last anything-- I’m sorry this next one’s to friendship sip & gulp--- paint over the walls in long mournful and delighted spirits inspired by punk rock or ambience vodka insurrection--- let’s write! Squat on the chairs almost simultaneous neath two parallel lightbulbs one flickers- fingers abandoned maybe calloused from overtyping and two strafing aged little kids ache for the spirit of their mothers missing sheets smell like smoke watching the window for fathers spitting in the grass on Saturday afternoons-black haired cat eyed wide faced and dingy mostly merry except when inescapably depressed-- yelling almost crying sometimes big whoops passing a big jug of wine cherished rose water demolishing the keys with insatiate insistency ecstasy- Great author, get over here I am obsessed and reiterating our demolitions! Secret Heroes! Come scrutinize my words finger my rhythm tease their substance anti-intellectual & with clovered comical suspicions! And one will sneak to the opposite side or scratch his chair across the labored delirious floor with a bug masked grin and heartily swing his arms and point with anticipation at the other’s brooding or climactic voice- Oh waste of genius and maudlin flower, absent lush generation preconceived on iconic middleclass paper- What can great minds achieve when their folds despair?

school is tiring. I am too stagnant. but am very excited by the charisma of some writers.

College APPS HAVE BEGUN!