all this should have waited (aka - I blew my load too early and she was pissed)

flies are drawn and consecrate the people's hard cash on the bar ... tomorrow needs a bullet.  and it is finally my time to work this something that reeks of freakish shit ... follows me around, the smell, the distance a thunderous dusk unassuming and at peace, the sun just off the horizon.  know that the right chord has been struck and this one is for the bar ... to be possessed by the weather and a piano is no wayward feat in this fucking town.  comes with the ever expanding territory sinking into the gulf.  but to believe in the Inevitable without mercy is only half a life as the rest exists in our unadulterated kindness spit back in the face of Doom.  just ask lou.  on another note, open windows are a serious problem ... just today I had to punch an insect to death.  that's a true story.  

in the meantime here is a bunch of shit I wrote some other day, information which is now out dated and utterly false.  james, the man in question below, has really nothing to do with the lady, also mentioned, except that they both lived in belgium for a while.  james mumbles a lot.  I thought his name was buzzy.  go figure.      

...

I heard someone say that the other day.  I have no idea in what context it was being used, but it sounds about right.  it was an older fellow, black, a craftsman engaging and cool as the summer breeze ... standing, rocking slow, he spoke softly and told his stories almost to no one in particular, eyeing the ground as if drawing memory and inspiration from the earth itself.  it felt that way, anyhow, listening simply to the sound of his voice beyond the words ... wonderful as he is though, he is only half of his cool ... his special lady, in every way sexy in her advancing years, stunning in the demeanor of her personality and figure, maintains the greatest smelling kitchen in new orleans and owns the most beautiful and elegant phonograph I have ever seen (I wont even mention the entirety of their home).  she is an artist to be sure as they had been living in belgium the last few years for one reason or another, reasons I wont bother recounting as I don't believe any reason will ever need to be given for leading a charmed life.  they are a model rare in this world, and I hope to spend a good deal of time with them while I am here, devour them if only by sounds and the perfect smells, a momentary rest in peace from this super heated purgatory.  I don't really have any reason to tell you about them ... but you know how I feel about reason.   

mother fucker.  I just took a peek at the time and it is 4:53am ... I have to close one eye to focus.  again.  I fear this is becoming habitual ... 

I think I may have woken up this morning a criminal of the law.  shocking, I know ... how I can count the ways it all could have been avoided.  or maybe not.  but these are the questions that haunt us, the answers being the morning silences, a painful bite to the tongue.  last night I opened a letter mailed to our house, but not in any way addressed to my person.  it was a terribly written card of some kind, marking a holiday or birthday or something I don't care to remember, and it contained no money.  weak.  what I a way to become a wanted man, violating the postal code for a small slice of zero.  the card face was a reproduction of red and white poppies.