Tremulous chattering in the van like we’re beetles in heat. Something like that anyways. Its fucking cold but it sure beats being on the street. Time to start on one of those commitments. That thing where we write everyday, try to spew out the content that drives each of us bonkers, makes us sicker and crazier than anything else upstairs no matter how much we beg and pray.
There’s joy to be found here. In the way that our interactions have changed. Its subtle, so very subtle, but present and there’s no denying the pleasure it brings. Instead of side eyed looks they come straight on, a touch of passion, and I’m even back to singing terribly constructed spasmodic morning songs.
Like a drunk man who’s way too sober christening each second with noise to blot out all of the thoughts before they come screaming to his room begging for their toys.
But it’s all got a rhythm to it. A banging irrational rhythm.
From the awkward sex making in the cubbyhole cavern with blanket draped window we reside, to the front seats arm deep in residue from yesterday which resides. You’d think we were animals, but that’s far from true. The hallucinations today have me convinced that we’re clearly not part of the normal zoo.
Slipshod shoestring rope, tied off way too high. Fuck man, I’d like to hear that story again, but this headache, you know?
Don’t puzzle me with temptations, screws got loose okay and I don’t want that medication. Plugged into a magnet machine which vivisected my skull peace with radio style pulsations. Dude says they’re gonna have a topographical map of that gray matter.
They can change the tones to show puddles of blood, goop, or whatever submerging force sketched them wrinkly hills if they want.
Today it’s about hemorrhaging. Poor baby has that capillary blown man, shit looks rough. Doctor, where are thou doctor?
Show on the road, shit, last time that didn’t go far. Van life it then, lets live like homeless rockstars.