can't





















write

just got back and I am back from where I've never been before and I've never been here more dog is barking marking time spent but not lent

the ring is the thing motherfuckers the ring is the thing

the ring

makes the past last makes the past fast come back with no hurt but alert save yourself I say from the past ten years

and ideas are never so filed when styled upon a fold such as this

dna.3 - one day you will feel me

The word can't contain everything that I feel and want to share.
I've got to figure out sound files to give it to you motherfuckers
no tomatoes left so I reckin better go get my guitar
and I would if onlyto share it with you
but that aint gonna happen today without no easy way to make happen so better to maintain and sit writing notes to myself and to health and to mental health

dna.2

sad that it came to one thing and happy that it came to another sad the thing that is no thing that is something waiting to be something and happy, the part of life you nourish, like a tree. and more this tree requireth more and more I shall give it and when the herb stirreth the herb maintain
I always know when I get back to myself because I feel myself whole. running through from past up till now. bad past and good. then you get this resolve like, every future from now on is going to make good past. then you think about writers as opposed to actors and athletes and other perennial human spectors and dreams and wonders and you reckon writing is a wise thing yes and a choice
'cept for I'm
[Johnny Damon ties score at one David Ortiz picking up his 114th RBI; 1 -1 Sox Tigers----------Here's Manny]
tides. current. digital hands. i got a fast dashbox don't make me spit at you
man

beep beep mmm beep beep YEAH
I never even much liked that song. But what an album it come from
I write it as code. My yard is like a prison, with freedom, plenty of it, and so: like the world
yikes this blog is a dead thing. but since it contains what I write, better leave it. I frankly don't have the inclination to start another blog, with new HTML, bells and whistles. no
the man came into the classroom and said now I'm going to show you the right way to write, sons of new england, clans of new hampshire
Listen:
or better,
Attend:
(but first: crack another beer:
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gray white is the day another page from my historyanother day of mystery and no mystery inasmuch as it's one of mydays

Aki

I hated all of them for what the man had done to me and I hated myself and when I saw how easily you killed them I felt a bright hope that you would then kill me. You were carrying me like a bride and your breath smelled like trash on a beach. There were crows in the tree and the horrible mangy black wolf dog was down and barking when you carried me out the door. I didn’t know why you wouldn’t kill me and send me down to Hell to wait for you there. I began to struggle and bray and tear at my hair and throat, wanting you to understand how badly I wanted to be killed. The black dog’s yellow fangs were slick and moving fast in the fading red light. My head was pounding. Your hands oily wet like the floor of a swamp. The black dog was barking and it was a terrible hot sound, the first I’d ever heard. You commanded him to stop, a low terrible snake sound to your voice. The fear clenched my buttocks and raced up my bottom and I felt the urine rush out of me and heard it on the ground. The black dog ceased to bark and I heard the wind, heard the emptiness of the world and you breathing it in. It was like being born. Your oily hands, cool and murderous but not for me not for me you had not come for me. I wanted to make you promise to kill me and take me back to Hell with you when you went back but I didn’t have words then. Only later would I learn that in a world full of demons you were not one.

Red

All I had eaten for many days was grass but at the final moment the grass had gone with the heat and what small bitter fruits had fallen from the tree I had eaten and these had ruined my insides. He toed me away from the tree and my eyes were open, the red sky moving over them.

I felt like water indeed watching Him walk up the road. Felt cooler and cooler with his each passing step. But at the touch of his boot the pain flared back into me as though the dust beneath me were knives. The collar of pain where the chain had buried flashed, my eyes turned back on. I snarled, I reared up.

And He smiled.

And when He knelt to cup his hand to my face I was going to bite and tear but He smelled like water and there was water in His palm. I lapped, and there was always water there.

I drank and there was no more pain. With His other hand he pinched the chain and the chain snapped and fell away, and as He drew the chain from out beneath the folded mass of rotten skin and muscle, there was no pain, but fresh blood spilled, and it was my blood. I kept drinking His water hand and as he passed the other hand around the collar my pain went away.

I buried my head into the crook of his arm and I smelled Him.

His teeth and eyes were gold when He stood up, and the fur on his head and around his face was black like mine. The red sky wreathed his head. He growled out long and low and my belly thrilled. Though I was hungry and desperate for meat. My belly thrilled.

When he stepped off the hill and started making his way down to the house was when I realized I could smell and see, better than before. I couldn’t remember much. I needed meat. I stared after him as he went in the house. I stood by the tree, the broken chain at my feet.

I waited. I looked after him.

Then I heard breaking sounds coming from the house, and I heard the shout of the one who had chained me, who had almost killed me, and I tasted again the arm of the boy his son who I’d bitten.

That boy now hung in the tree.

I fired myself down the hill.. I must follow Him.

He was there carrying with him the crying girl with the orange hair. I barked and she cringed and He said to stop so I did. She was fighting Him.

I wondered about his water hand. Then I went in the house. The floor was slick with the blood of the man who’d chained me. He was just barely dead and smelled just like before.
He was barely dead. I left it there.