THE LOST TAPES Vol.40: another instance of adulthood

   Nothing new is happening
   As in there is no inspiration to come quick and easy.
   Though recycling can give me sure hitters
   There’s no desire for the bullseye.
   What can I do to feel happiness again?
   Inspiration always comes so close to aspiration.
   So hard now to put myself to think of something.
   Anything at all, really.
   Maybe talk about the beautiful shiny boots she’s wearing? 

“She smiles at me, and I see nothing in her green eyes
Will smile back, will partake the chit-chat
But I’m itching to look down again
and dream of touching those shiny black boots.” 

***

The jailbait festival
Underage girls in fishnet and miniskirts
Some showing back, some showing belly
All under heavy mascara and black lips 

Sugar daddies scout new babies
Depressing music plays on the speakers
Skateboards hang on the walls
Never been to anywhere more german 

***

two ginger kids walk side by side
they were twins, I’m sure
the weird kind too
the one that becomes a post-folk duo in the future 

***

She dressed like she was twenty years younger
The kid was clearly depressed, watching
his parents kiss like a teenage couple
Sharing fries at the food court 

***

In a world where drive-thrus are a privilege
I overhear rich people drama 

***

the note says, written with saliva on the blank page,
“he copped another late night reject attaboy”
and under it is a pencil note,
“aren’t we all rejects?” 

***

that girl at the bus stop, with the walmart uniform
tatted like michelle zauner, rock boots
short black hair; smiled back at me as I passed by
like the start of a way too modern suburban rom-com 

***

fuzzy memories come and go as I struggle to open my eyes in the morning
cheating scandals and backstabbing, lived through so much drama
but all made up drama, I guess, my friends still by my side
such cool make up in the eyes of that girl, like an indecently high mardi  
[gras in halloween season; full of blues and greens and glitter
the many times I was violently thrown, now my butt's hurting
boys and girls talk smart about world problems, writing punk lyrics
drunk for 3 days straight, gotta remember the promises made
like the christmas gifts and future dirty jams, and the artists and the fading 
[phone number written on my arm
who was that? 3 numbers missing, will never see them again
so many nice males to make the court — a cool hello kitty shirt — girls got 
[the goods amirite
wish I was up there on stage to sing ghostbusters with the college professor
policemen stop the tracks, spit to the rock boots
uncaringly young I am, we all are, 3 at a time drinking shots of clear vodka
there were rice cakes in the fridge, ate em frozen
bed was not inviting, sleep devoid of dreams, my head won’t move now

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE LOST TAPES Vol.49: ruination in foreign terror

plucked rose petals laid in a little glass coffin a trapped soul forced to nature's course the soft aroma of a beautiful flower   *** marriage on sight expected pregnancy lulling her days rolling on the couch whore by nature but for what?   ***    In a small, protestant little church    Five congregants and a minimal band    Dad’s on guitar, she plays the drums set    Black hair, black eyes, black nails    Thin, black sweater under a pentagram charm    Her black lips sigh, begging for a smoke    It’s a cold, depressing Sunday night    But at least she’s getting paid   Tourists don’t come around here Smoking pot, sitting on dead leaves We’ve broken all the lamps It’s been two months, nobody noticed The new piercing, tattoos, scars A black eye waiting to happen Half a bible, rolling joints Throwing rocks at the sewer creek Not a sound in the streets downtown but the winds whistling through empty alleys and an occasional small splash because there are no big rocks left   You don’t wan
Read more

Just another special day

    A birthday like any other    as special as they come    Woke up with the flu    now I can’t do the laundry    Drink my tea, avoid coffee    Maybe roomie will come at noon -  Gotta clean all this poo    and pee, special Betsy    At least someone is happy to see me      Mom remembered, like every year    Gave me the same line as always    Same I’ve heard over 21 times now    Didn’t answer my call, nobody did    Nobody so far, to wake me up at midnight    shake my shoulders and say...    It’s 8a.m. on a Saturday and my bones hurt      Too weak for chores    too sick for ice cream    Dog ate the modem cord     “Lie in bed all day    cartoons will take you away    from this world of chest pains    and misery and oblivion”    But my back hurts, 1800 hours    Nobody else is home and I’m crying    Needed out of there    Went out to smell a cigar    and the cold winds of a wintry weekend    But the drunk kids were laughing at me    Sitting alone, at the empty park    My head hurts, my eyes
Read more

THE LOST TAPES Vol.50: nothing special

Memories can be so faulty When you are drunk all the time Month-long trip feels like it never happened What am I doing with my life? Booze and molly Snorting ashes of the deceased Throwing up bloody foam into the toilet What good is  this life? Pluck out the party stopper Let’s pee on somebody’s porch Rain terror upon this land Let us pull our brains out Kill the first breathing thing we see Break lamps and church windows Suck each other off in the middle of the street I don’t owe this place two fucks You shouldn’t either So, let’s seize the night Only the sun can stop us now But before then Our throats will be wide open   *** paracetamol cup noodles cachaça hoje tem   ***    A walk in the park    Dog socializes more than me    with the grumpy-looking men    sitting alone    on uncomfortable wooden benches   ***     “yeah, vivian, you ate two full plates of food” vivian said to herself   *** In a constantly changing reality and a city that so fearlessly advances what is a year when you
Read more