I hate to inform you of this
but I may have
in your oh
so revered snatch
it might not be the single most
pertinent X mark
on my trail map.
Like a gawking peacock
hen-ing its head ’round
begging for attention
own the assumption
that those tail feathers
of color and lore
are tucked up there so tight
to match their preciousness.
Check my sources
ask any of them
coffee cigarette both neither
mention that I love them
they will explain in laborious detail
the nature of my single-mindedness
but, tonight, alone
we may all have been
Editor’s Note: Some guy who lives in Santa Cruz got my phone number from a friend from a friend from a friend kind of thing and insisted I come down to hang out. Here is a series of two voicemails I received at 3am.
Don’t you fucking start with me you fucking artist, I fucking hate your life.
I know I am one and I fucking hate myself that way and I know I hate myself and I know like you are one, and so you hate yourself that way, in identifying, and stuff.
And we haven’t offed ourselves yet. You oughta come down to Santa Cruz and come into like this beach town house and you should be playing beer pool, beer pong, I don’t even know what this game is. But you should be here because it would be awesome. Because it would just be awesome.
Just be awesome, with your life. Just live in joy. (Inaudible, something French)
Live. In. Joy….
Kay love. Why aren’t you answering at 3 am C’mon what are you asleep or something? Pussy.
Fuck you fucker. Look for inspiration.
Keep looking in Folsom because that’s where inspiration strikes.
…in a boring ass suburban town.
Can you just stretch your web out for a moment you stupid son of a bitch (fart sound)?