I feel like a tiger with a steak lying just outside my cage.
Transitional mourning aside. These are the days of beer and poses, laid to waste on eyes too young and hearts too bruised. And I do say "Fuck You" for turning off the Air Con. This is the Valley, for Christ's sake, not Venice Beach. I struggled all afternoon to just do laundry. It was a bore.
If it's a crutch you want, a crutch you will receive. If it is pain you crave, then pain is what you'll bleed. I was never into "disco" for disco's sake. It was that damn Japanese wine that did me in. In all my dying, I have never once felt like silencing myself like I do now. Like I do now... See, it was the approach that caused the plane to crash. It was the intention behind those lying eyes. It was the juicy wet youth of the moment. It was and will never be. It isn't, anymore.
There was a time when I could have happily taught English to Aliens. But that, too, is gone. Daddy, it's gone. Go on and do it. See if I care. See how much I don't. See Dick. Run. If at first you don't succeed. Add a houseguest to the mix and stir. Sure, I've got a thousand dollars and not a shred of dignity. Three percent body fat doesn't impress me nearly as much as Charlie Bukowski, who always seemed so fragile. So about to break, that I broke my piggy bank as a boy and sent every red cent to Chinaski, care of Charles, LA, CA. No return address.
I've been had and had again, by my own heart. There might be an attack. But still.... I feel like a tiger with a steak lying just outside my cage.