my head an't rite. i just watchedid the prettyest reflection of a nimbus cloud roll bye. sitten on the porch smokin a beer and drinkin cigs i bin thinkin on this grl i know nameh meris, and how she putsin her hairs up in a cinnabun just like somes of the ballerinas my sis useta zoom with and how i think thats real swelllike. she digs my like a clam strait up and shes finna be makin my all hotnbotheredid like too cept thing is: i dont love anyone. even my last grl her namehs bree. and once we talkedid all nite watchen dumb infomercials bout watches with diamond skulls in em and how thar great gifts for 'edgie moms' and we foldedid ice cream sammish wrappers up into origami'n she rubbed my head all nice an'at but still man at the end i didnt love her never did and im bin tryna figure out the reasonin hind that.
im a young mannin still, perps tell my all the thyme "yous a young man!" so i be growin this moustachio on my young mannin face like so. its a sad little moustachio though in truth, a rite meloncholie moustachio in its way, little grubworms inching up my toplip like they got somfin to prove, its almost cute if it werent so sad. by the thyme i got a rite tom selleck up underneef athere itll be the rite thyme to sitter down and start my loven career proper, but i got some nicks and nooks in my brackenbrain ter be screamin that even then i an't not but a little balloon. a little yellow balloon an'at. meanin, i suppose, that say your whole life is a desert, and some perps just come outta nowheres and walk all bout thar desert, footprintinin it, doin donuts on your soul, makin all manner of marks. most people they walk deserts and they get their deserts walked on in kind, but nowsaboutnow i reckon i'ma balloonin, yellow like egg yolk floatin in that blue desert sky lookin like the water in swimming pools and not a whole person can bringin it down norhaps do it wanna come down, but that balloonin the whole time it's balloonin it ain't steppin on no cotdamn sand, nor has it got no sand to step to.
but shoo, meris do that thinger with her hair again i finna forget about this sand bizness and take that grl rite rollerskatin with my, trust it.
easie things bin maken my sad today, stuff all over like some old people by themselves in the windows of mcd's or seagrls flying aginst the wind gittin nowhere at the hot dog stand. i sat there on the pier a shitheavy ten mins and saw thosen birds move back and forth and back and forth and back when i was zoomin with meris, cold gettin dumb, her ma cooken some linguino got my foot strait thumps like thar bunnies whenen you play with the back of their ears an'at, i started noticin the things that drag like that. like howbout this issue where i cant meet a bodie this days without thinkin strait way bout whats these peoples funerals gwan be like? whos cheeks got melted icicles danglen round and whos face looks like an old painting and whats the pastor got say bout that girls laugh? cuz shoo, she did have a mightyighty laugh at that. errything is skeweded all so, if someone does nice by my i just thinkedid to my head "she gwan have good kids thatll preciate that niceness and when grls gone they will surely mention it standin by that coffin an'all." maybs its on meris who got my thinkin all like this, not so much by her morbid outlook on things per say so much as that i think
(shoosh dont tell)
her laugh was a skin-shiverer, rite? and not in no goody goody goosebumps type way, cuz it sounded downrite depresseded even when it were sincere, like she knewen who she were and where she'd be and the truth of it had dawned somethyme fore i made the scene. like her own laugh didn't believe itself. and i reckoned, yea, theyll mention some pretty eyes and probably a nice long list of real upstandin jobs she did but non-bodies at thar funeral gwan say a shittens bout her laugh.
maybe wer a little lonelie cuzen we walk round think that we's the onlie lonelie types. like keepen secrets rite, like if yer thoughts all day erryday were one of dem pie churts, how much pie would the secrets you keep be eatin up? you got some thing you think is so dirty and fartlipped and terriblen that you hold it rite up side your chest hole like, thinking 'i must subdue this here beasten side me so as not to make errybody round liken visiblie freak out to my presence' but i'll be damnt cos that thar secret owns you more than you could ever own it, cuz my oh-pin-onion is strait up give some of that pie in yer brackenbrain to some stuff you dunny mind speaken to some other folk, maybe then you wouldna feel all that wait up inside. thats why when damond told me bout burnen down that camp he stayedid at a few months back and he mighten have leave on a train somethyme soon i kept cool like the hands of luke, trust it. i hugged the bruv, i may eveneve whisperedid some inspiratorial words on hes ears. cos my bein i, i reckon a bunch more perps might be liken better off times millions if they started thinkin thar secrets didn't need to be secrets.
its liken that guy on the boose with his funnie little ponietail pokesin out the backside of hes baseball cap who jumps up betwixt maple and union, screaming "this man rightere" (and hes fingersere pointed at you) "is satan hisself, the adversarie, lord lucifer the devil incarnate!" and all dem perps on the boose turnsin round, lookin ascatter for some semblence of beelzebub-or-so and all it is is lilold you, tipsie nuff to be listenen to them nine savedid messages on yer fone, most of em drunk grls telling you how much they drunklove you and alls ya were doin fore the man made claim to your almightie evil was thinkinon how drunklove is like real love only fake and a bit less complicatedlike. and now you got a booseload of folk looken at you, thinking yous aboutset to burst the wrath of hellfire pon them, so you gotta get off rite quick next stop even though where you were gwan is a strait six-block step-to. its just like that guy on the boose. i dunnow what 'it' is, is the thing.
lookedid mirrorside today first thyme in weeks maybs. felt my cheekses, rubbed em an'at, taste of gravel and cotton and lime all in my mouth. i wont be dancen here too much longer. shoo, my moustachio is proper filled-in now too, looken like somebodie oughta make a bronze-ass statue outta my. i oughta be storin food up thar cos come winter itll keep some shittens rite cozy for my, trust it. somethymes this place and the sirens and kids on the playground outside make it seem liken a movie set i'm walken through or some such, and i get to play the guy who walks in the background during a scene to make the city seem more life-like. not much to hap but sitten rite pretty on this porch i got, smokin gin and drinkin cigs, watchen all ther lites downen betwixt the buildings blink on and off. spose i were the star of thatter movie i was magining, i reckon one or two more perps mighten see things from my point, rite. cos in flicks you get to see the folk by themselveses and naught but god or jesus-h-asschrist gets to trick that in real life. so its liken you get the awkward dude who works at the bookstore and everybody kinda jibes him, thinks hes funnie lookin or what and yer all up in the audience like, "yea. damn. that dude, he's a strait funnie lookin guy." but in the pictures you follow the man home and see "hey lookie, boy's actually a brilliant poetical mind an'at" or maybs the guy volunteers with the sick or the poverished and so then, yea he's awkward as all get but you give the man some slack. for the genius poeticals and the playing with the sick kids an'all. maybe liken some pretty piano musicks mite play at that part, to get you to feel more loven twards his.
problem with that is i reckon maybs they dun make movies bout perps such as my selves. they dont show folk just surfen internettens for hours, checkin them hookup sites and such, or sitten watchen like pbs mysteries with the volume low smoken a beer or two fore bed. but i think it could be real interesting, you know, cos the whole movie yer like strait pee-in-your-pants bout "what's his deal? what's gwan happen to this boy?" and that like keeps it real mysterious.