F*** you it's too hot.

If Gregory Corso were still alive, I'd challenge him to a duel-

My hair could have out-beauty'd his angelic rug
Any day; but shiver me timbers! In the southern wastelands
Of Amerikkka, my head is a sloth bear as I trudge through the
Sticky atmosphere where I serve a sentence for loud mouth
Syndrome. I've let these curly locks grow too long! I must murder
this long hair, lest my mind be smothered!
The lady behind the counter in the head shop says cotton mouth
Has ruined her day, which began with a wake and bake;
I slap an LP on the glass surface- The Specials' Self titled
Masterpiece, classic rude boy mayhem eagerness in my bones.
Lady takes a big gulp from a sweaty can of red bull/she says she
was lookin' forward to toking up again when her shift ends.
Flattering me with imagery of her taking a bath looking at an ink
drawing I made hastily for her.
Damn cotton mouth's made everything sticky, sticky thoughts stuck
to the sun backed black leather seat of her mind. 

She put the album down in her list of sold inventory, though I'd no
money to give. Things feel like heaven when the filthiness of FDR's 

greenbacks can be kept out of a business transaction. 

She smiled and said I'd picked a very SPECIAL album (har har)
I said: "My thick curly hair is making me a rude boy, today I should
have gotten a hair cut, but I saw this album and had to get it-
God dammit! It's too hot!"

She was old enough and schooled enough to get it and said:
"Take some beadies." which I did.
Lit glorious Indian cigarette of fleck tobacco wrapped in tendu leaf
delicate pink string probably tied by lepers and walked out into
the humidity

IT'S TOO HOT! 

 

"And I, my head begirt with horror, said"

How humanity mocks and murders itself. Dear Lucifer, in high school I used to drink like a fish, girls wanted to fool around at parties, but I knew proper order, despite the grinding pain I felt inside- somehow I knew. Leeches- these creatures, not teens or tweens or boys or men. How can we dare to mourn the primal rape of our politics if we, ourselves, cannot control the primal rape of each other? Now I'm filled with disgust because I myself can think of at least two situations in which nobody did the right thing.

And for what? Image? Vanity? Hatred? Pride? What? Some impulse and sense of entitlement that made some one feel so subhuman to the point of hanging themselves:

NoNoNoN <-----it's an article!

Everybody living like sharks, but sharks die if they're still. And there's so much time.

Thus I go into the well-wept darkness.