December 2008
4 posts
I walked the road from Tucson to San Antonio with the smell of blood on my breath ninety days of sweat and dirt feels like one night when you’ve got nothing left
till there’s nothing left to do but die
buckshot is my bread
and I’ll drink whiskey instead of water
cause I can’t stand to be sober in this place
your hands on my face
every step of the way
tryin’ to...
Remembering why I was so thin back in the day: an unmaintainable level of perpetual anxiety.
Walter Benjamin’s Angel of History: eternally facing backwards, sucked into the future watching the past unroll as one endless catastrophe.
I was made to distrust Both my will and my lust In the shades of sorrow In the feasts of the morrow I found a new master Who knew how to command I am that master At my command The beasts that guard the staircase These soldiers on guard Are at my service And were built to last Don’t need your religion Of immobility and sleep I was made to conquer I was made to be free You lie...