lily

I'm sick... of being tied down like a fuckin psychotherapy patient in the 40's. My ode to Frances Farmer. Although God is very much alive and kicking, Like my friend Bob who knows we are both crazy and spiritually connected and he can talk to himself all day if he know's I'm only a phonecall away.

There's a little life inside of me. My womb defaced and obstructed. hello there little double heartbeat, I know you didn't ask for this just like I didn't, and If I meet u in the sky with my executed lover and all my junkie/suicide debauchary dreamers and my Aunt kate who believed in E.S.P. and would you listen when I told you of your ancesters, the poor white southern trash, My great aunt Jane who was a hustler and a whore and was always in the company of fast men and fancy cars in the 50's or my great uncles, Jane's Brothers, who were identical twins and had identical tattoos and would bare knuckle fight on the streets for money. We have fighter blood little one, and sometimes fighter blood has to give up the right to live in this realm.

I'm onto better days. I have to take a week or two break from shool to get my shit straight. So, I'm hopping a Freight train to montreal. Canada, where the healthcare is free and the world looks a little brighter.




^Better days, This was featured in Richard Kern's most recent Book "Soft", I like to call it "gutter lovin" or "east river lovin"

Everybody cross your fingers that the railroad police doesn't fuck with me and for me, today, tell someone you love them.

Love and Hope, Lily