The Sacred and the Profane

The standard is dropping. Fuck it. Are you complaining? Fuck you. Write your own. Fucked now, aren't you? Fucker. There was a time ...

No longer must I find some purifying formula of words to elucidate my loneliness. No longer must I bend or break my fragile emotions into some tortured vainglorious melancholy. In other words, fuck you, adjectives. Don't wait up.

Dear hypothetical non-participatory reader, words are just decoration. Words give us a foothold in the chaos. Words can only give clarity to the emotions you give them to work with. You don't need better words, you need better emotions. Find yourself a woman. Even if you're a woman already, find yourself a woman. I've no idea how you do that, but do it. Get yourself a woman so full of giddiness, goatiness, nonsense and attractiveness that words are the things you discard before going to bed.

There was a time when this seemed like all I had. Midnight, women singing, and a keyboard. I had much more, of course. But not what I have now. What I always wanted.

.

The New Adventures of Shanty and Poxball, Episode 4

Shanty shifted sideways on his chair. He had seen this Columbo recently, and his mind drifted to the other night. Poxball, looking distinctly Guillaume-y, began to hiccough. Poxball suggested tea, but made no move toward the kettle. She continued ironing Shanty's work shirts. He stood up, waited for the dizziness to pass, and turned left into the kitchen.

"Normal, P.B., or Lady Grey?"

"Ooh, nor-mal, Shanty, please."

"I like you."

"Thanks."

Untitled #2

And slowly do they come to notice

Everything is different now.

Cast aside half-hearted fury

Seeing they are not alone.

And slowly too they come to hear

The tolling of the bells of love.

Familiar places dull a little

Til the future's ways are known.

And slowly do they come to sparkle

Like a white ship in the sun

Setting off, serene, majestic

This is all they've ever known.