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------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.
----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.
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Amazon.com Widgets
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Experimenting with social media.
I can chant shit poetry all the live long day.
But as long as I post it with a pic of a naked
famous chick
It’ll get notes and reblogs and then I can say to myself,
“They love me for my poetry.
They love me for my art.”
Its not for my fake celebrity tits
they truly see the depths of my soul
and they like/love/reblog and I feel full
no longer made of holes
I am fucked completely.
BECOME THE LEADING AUTHORITY ON THE ULTIMATE MYSTERY
And everyone will pay you
$5 a head at least.
A man with fabulous tits
a dominatrix high priest.
a disappearing, intertwined together
tangoing through the trees
falling, balling and laughing
nothing left but a pile of leaves
for you to jump in.
