It creeps up real slow like dope-sick vomit rising in your mouth and you look around and nothing makes sense and nothing ever really did, I can't write because i can't express this thought the way i want to. I tried to express it the other night and just ended up in the emergency room choking on charcoal and my own vomit, Opened my red eyes and thought, is this hell? sure looks like it and there was an AIDS patient scratching her skin off through the other curtain, scratching until she saw blood, and for that one moment when she looked up at me it was like we were sisters in a past life and were connected through this intense energy that died as soon as it was born and then she just kept scratching, digging her fingernails deep into her decaying flesh. and if i could have spoken, I would have told her she was beautiful, and if i had a shot-gun i would have shared it with her. I had a dream and i'm going to mexico.
Lil
Lil
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nobodaddy:
You are the best in the history of the best. You are as brave and as true as any of history's real artists or real muses. I was thinking of you in the hotel Chelsea a couple of weeks ago. I hope this is your year. Everyone will know about you someday. Make it last as long as you can. You're good at that.
throe:
You know, I'd love to convert some of your writing into some short comic book form. Like a four page or six page strip to include in my comic book. Think about it.