Monday, October 20, 2008


There are spider fang bites on my wrist so every night I sleep on the couch, I'm terrified of the thought of the legs which crawl over during the night, a nice analogy really, a real karma baby, calmer than what you were anyway, those nights in the dark, terrified of it in your mouth, as you lay asleep and the drums, boom boom, in the night, well I heard them anyway, and no fucking spider had the guts, not when I was beside her, inside her, a calm protecting presence, a baby boy acting as the man he wished to be, and breathing slowly, up -

down -

to show that I was in control, that I was centred, that I was


or maybe that I was a fake, even in those moments. But I was faking it so that she might feel safe.

I guess intention is the worst lie of all.

Best to hide it.

Invite only.

Fuck that.

My t-shirt said, I am not Beck, and the best part was, it was covered in blood and my intention was clear, it was,

I don't know if I care.

(not NOT care - but not like you care, I don't think I care, the way that you care, but it doesn't mean I don't care...)

Anyway -

you might think that you know,

but you might not understand the will it takes a loser to laugh as he shows his empty hand, out on the deck, how much he eights clubs, how much he eights hearts, how much he just wants to call a spade a spade, when all you ever wanted was a handful of diamonds and all I ever wanted was to play poker.

Oh butt fuck there's fun to be had, if you can call it fun - and I can. I can call it loose, a truce between me and the rest of the world, a way to let my heart burn the cold response I get from fucking anyone who thinks their shit is worth the worry, or the sorry they want when my words push past them and burn the fucking Indiana Jones bridge I stand vicariously upon.

Yeah, it's loose tonight.

I guess all it is, is -

Love isn't just my lie.

Love is all of you people,


but too fucking afraid.

(fuck, especially to actually admit that you're afraid - who would do that?)

So I'll lie back down with my invisible spider who might bite me in the night, and the cancer in my lung, and the love of so many strangers, and the callous fucking words, and the flower in your door, and the thought of something more, but my Hope is just a war that I will always lose, but never surrender to, just shift the lines, hide in the trenches, believe a little one day, and when belief fails, as it must, I might send myself out, a dangerous troop in an unknown land, scouting for adventure, speaking with tongues, being the enemy, with a sneer and a hey, and god, make this day, please, never stop, or more importantly, don't take away my stubborn for if you do I may drown in the questioning sea which rises and falls with the tides of my mood.

There's a hidden spider in my room.
I can see the people respond to the notes you leave that I can't read.

Maybe that bites me in the night.

Or maybe they aren't fangs at all -

maybe it's the light.

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