Razor Blades, Blisters and Time

 Does it matter that I know

very little of life, love or personal contact,

pop open another one to cure the

desolate coldness that burns through

my being.

I laugh in the face of your world,

your ideas

your rules

those concepts that drive the normal ones

like social cattle off to the slaughter.

Killed by perception

by regulation of acceptance

by the dreams of the masses

kill

kill

or be killed

death and dying

or drop out of the cycle of commercial wisdom.

I take a side trip behind the liquor store

to down my last short dog.

3 A.M. I walk over the Clara street bridge..

to my imagined destiny

to the distorted contrived dream that burned in side of me

I called her name and she beckoned me further..

further

onward to the alley

sweet words kiss my brain

the promise of it all

to the back street covered in darkness i creep

she whispers and coos to me

I knock on the steel door and no one answers

I hear them in side

I pound harder..

Soon the cops arrive and take me to jail.

take your fucking shoes off the tall one barks at me,

I sneer at him as if i held the key to the secret conspiracy

4 hours later i am standing in front of the Police station

no smokes

no money

caked in jail dirt

the sour stench of wine and speed seep out of my pores

i slowly wander down the street

off to just south of nowhere

but isn’t nowhere actually somewhere after all????????

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  I do it over and over again, all the while knowing that nothing good.. well nothing positive will come of it.
Even though at the time i seem to need and even require
the small amount of attention i get from playing
this little game over and over again. Maybe the word “game” is not good choice of words, but none the less i always seem to lose when engaged in this sort of activity, so maybe it is a game after all.
 Ever since becoming obsessed with Tammy, the secretary to
one of my customers, i search for excuses to make my way to
the office she works at…mostly it would seem that my customer has found more reasons of is own to have me at his office, and i treasure each and every one of them! Tammy is an attractive 35 year old single mother of 4. if you had asked me my thoughts of her  after our first meeting…. I am sure that i wouldn’t have had much to say other than that she seemed a bit aloof, quite overworked, and overall didn’t have much to say to me personally. I must be a confused person… or maybe completely out of touch with reality, but for what ever the reason, i feel as if there something  happening between us. We have spent a lot of time together, in and out of the office, we have alot in common and there is more. Oh i am not saying we are dating, or have even gone out, at but i think she is sending me signals….. most times i think they are mixed, she still does this thing when we are working close together where she will  lean in on me, and a few times i have caught her looking at me, and being at a loss for words i blurt out “what?” And more and more the topic of sex finds it’s way into our conversation. And lately there has been some physical play  between us, but on the flip side more than once i have heard her say that she doesn’t want a boy friend, and if she was to get involved
with a guy it would only be for sex with out emotional ties! To me this seems quite to the contrary to how i see her as a woman, but maybe that is the signal she is sending to ward off my unwanted advances. And all i know is that i do not know  anything about women, and looking at my past, all i have to go on is that she,  like almost all of the other women from my past isn’t into me as all.   Yeah i have had a few girl friends in the past…. actually 3 in my 43 years on this planet…and that being said, they were the ones to let me know where i stood, and that they wanted me…..So if i know anything, it is that i do not have a clue, and on top of it, i don’t take rejection very well at all…. So i guess you can say that i am fucked when it comes to the opposite sex!  So all i do is go out of my way to be helpful to her, and hope for a signal that
is so easy to read that i won’t have to guess at what she is really thinking! In the end all i can think of is that the definition of Insanity is: Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result!
 

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It was as i thought at the time, all i had going for me.
I was 20 years old, strung out on heroin and a car thief.
My perception of myself and my life was limited to all
that i knew or thought i knew at the time. I was actually
living a sheltered drug induced life. I was living in a
shit hole mobile home in a run down trailer park in Bell
Gardens California,and only living to get high, and getting
high to live. Each shot of heroin chased away the world and
coated my eyes with a warm rose colored outlook, that removed
reality and replaced it with the delusion that everything was OK!
 I hadn’t really seen or done much at all, except for get
high, steal and travel the world through the county jail system
or through the spoon that held my next fix.
All that i was came from the next dose, the next blast,
the next big thing. I justified my entire existence with
the idea that i was only taking what was rightfully mine with
a brash manifest destiny kind of belief.

By day i was on the prowl for the next score, the next job that would
pay the dope man, and put greasy burgers, beer, and cigarettes on the table.
By night i hung with the small rough knit clan i called my brothers,
and we got high, drank, and told tall tales of past exploits of fine women,
fast cars and kicking ass! My world was approximately 18 square blocks
of the lower middle class city of Cudahy California. I walked those streets
with a swagger that said “I am somebody, so don’t fuck with me”,
and I always carried some sort of weapon, mostly a sheath knife;
You never knew when you would need it.
And all i lived for was the next thing….what ever it may be…
the next one…The thing that stands out the most in my memory
is that even though i was actively part of this group, i was very
much different than the rest of my brothers. i hung with my “Road Dog”
Billy, and we did what ever we had to do to take care of our habits,
and live our shabby dirty existence.
 We skirted the local cops and chased the next one, over and over again.
Still I felt very much different and very much alone all at the same
time. This was all i really knew. it was all i had to cling to….
my family life wasn’t very good.. so i bounced between living at my
mothers house and running the streets. i was on parole, strung out on
dope and for the most part lost in the very world i called my own.
I didn’t really have a plan, like i said before i lived for the next thing
what ever it was. I didn’t know where i was going and at the same time
i didn’t want to be where i was, but it was all that i had. And i didn’t know
how to change what i was doing, so i just rode it out.. we had a saying at the
time …..”Till the wheels fall off!” and what was exactly what i was doing.

Time tick tocked forward and i chased the next one, never worrying about
getting busted or anything other than getting the next bag. The bag is what
i lived for. The bag took away my fear, my loneliness, my shame. it made
everything That was going on around me disappear. It was like a warm
pat on the ass; The minute i felt the dope coursing thru my calloused veins
it was like Ahhhhhhhhhhh everything is gonna be alright!
 So time marches on and my road dog Billy gets himself in a wreck
with the cops, gets bailed out and splits the scene to keep from doing
long hard time. He left me a going away gift of a stolen late model Ford
Bronco, which i promptly striped and sold to my parts connection. All of the
proceeds of that gift went into my arm. To this day i haven’t seen or
heard from Billy, i hear he was in the Pacific North West staying out of trouble.
My mission was still running, so it would be many many more years before i found
a way out..mostly.

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I am the king of my castle

hear me roar..

My castle.. mostly dirty

unorganized

paper work piled up across my desk

strewn bits of paper

scribbled notes

coffee cups

an ashtray filled with the butts

of un-filtered Camel’s.

I am the king of my castle

mostly irresponsible

the king slacker..

my bedroom floor littered with

clothes

shoes

dirty hank socks

my un-played guitar’s sit in

un-used loneliness

The ripe aroma of Nag Champpa

and cigarette smoke fill the air.

I am the king of my castle

my bills are paid

and all I got left is pocket change

and a new electric tooth brush.

I am the king of my castle

half of my bed is un-used

always cold

I sometimes stare at it

and then shrug my shoulders

Tonight the king doesn’t care

that he is single

alone

because

no matter how it all ends

I am the king of my castle

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  Who makes the rules
about who we are
if we will be happy, rich, poor
die all alone in the dark
or live with value and promise.
big or small, happy or sad.
Who makes the rules

Is it a big crap shoot, or just the way it is.
one
life
my mistake
or cosmic chance.

Is loneliness really true freedom

or the first and last stage of despair.
I am living just to die
one breath at a time
inch by inch
step by step
frame by frame
in your own analysis.

this world owes me nothing,
and i struggle for all that i have
and in the small hours
Nothing matters as long as I believe it doesn’t
And how can i believe in such a worth
when all i have is trapped in my dirty memory tank.

Dirty from misuse
warped from abuse
tied off
looking for the sweet spot
relief is just a squeeze away

steady..
steady..

one more ride.
who makes rules
and can i get $20 worth???

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