Almost one week, no intoxicants. Cold, flu, some disease probably collected from the walls of a shit-spattered jail cell. No soap in the holding cells, would rather a death by disease than suicide swallowing suds. No clocks there. And then the lawyers ask you how much time you spent inside. Fuck the cops. Fuck GA. Fuck the drunk. Fuck the US. Fuck the lawyers. Fuck the system. I'll do the things they say and run the ropes but soon as soon as soon I will bolt. Notice the cells, not a body worth more than 30k a year. Minority comes majority, inversity land. There's not a single thing to keep a body here but the laws and the money. Not too hard to be smarter. Patience, patience, patience... If a car is a privilege, not a right, shouldn't the state provide for some public transportation worth a fucking shit? So many places I could go not to have these issues. Fuck this backwards place. Stomach so fucked there's glee when something solid passes out my ass, even in chunks.Patriotism is the failure of the individual to differentiate the place they live from who they are. So far, my country, I am not impressed.
I did piss in their sink after being strip searched though. I thought that was pretty amusing. Every time a cop dies, god smiles. Every time a rich white guy gets cancer, the devil chews his lips. Maybe if there was health care, education beyond a joke, economy that pays off the paid off and a democracy that hasn't gotten a good thing done in years.
Bukowski-ism...
The Shoelace (By Charles Bukowski)
a woman, a
tire thats flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still
you can study them
like pieces on a
chessboard
its not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death hes ready for, or
murder, incest, robbery, fire, flood
no, its the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse
not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left
The dread of life
is that swarm of trivialities
that can kill quicker than cancer
and which are always there -
license plates or taxes
or expired drivers license,
or hiring or firing,
doing it or having it done to you, or
roaches or flies or a
broken hook on a
screen, or out of gas
or too much gas,
the sinks stopped-up, the landlords drunk,
the president doesnt care and the governors
crazy.
light switch broken, mattress like a
porcupine;
$105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at
sears roebuck;
and the phone bills up and the markets
down
and the toilet chain is
broken,
and the light has burned out -
the hall light, the front light, the back light,
the inner light; its
darker than hell
and twice as
expensive.
then theres always crabs and ingrown toenails
and people who insist theyre
your friends;
theres always that and worse;
leaky faucet, christ and christmas;
blue salami, 9 day rains,
50 cent avocados
and purple
liverwurst.
or making it
as a waitress at norms on the split shift,
or as an emptier of
bedpans,
or as a carwash or a busboy
or a stealer of old ladys purses
leaving them screaming on the sidewalks
with broken arms at the age of 80.
suddenly
2 red lights in your rear view mirror
and blood in your
underwear;
toothache, and $979 for a bridge
$300 for a gold
tooth,
and china and russia and america, and
long hair and short hair and no
hair, and beards and no
faces, and plenty of zigzag but no
pot, except maybe one to piss in
and the other one around your
gut.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.
so be careful
when you
bend over.
I did piss in their sink after being strip searched though. I thought that was pretty amusing. Every time a cop dies, god smiles. Every time a rich white guy gets cancer, the devil chews his lips. Maybe if there was health care, education beyond a joke, economy that pays off the paid off and a democracy that hasn't gotten a good thing done in years.
Bukowski-ism...
The Shoelace (By Charles Bukowski)
a woman, a
tire thats flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still
you can study them
like pieces on a
chessboard
its not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death hes ready for, or
murder, incest, robbery, fire, flood
no, its the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse
not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left
The dread of life
is that swarm of trivialities
that can kill quicker than cancer
and which are always there -
license plates or taxes
or expired drivers license,
or hiring or firing,
doing it or having it done to you, or
roaches or flies or a
broken hook on a
screen, or out of gas
or too much gas,
the sinks stopped-up, the landlords drunk,
the president doesnt care and the governors
crazy.
light switch broken, mattress like a
porcupine;
$105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at
sears roebuck;
and the phone bills up and the markets
down
and the toilet chain is
broken,
and the light has burned out -
the hall light, the front light, the back light,
the inner light; its
darker than hell
and twice as
expensive.
then theres always crabs and ingrown toenails
and people who insist theyre
your friends;
theres always that and worse;
leaky faucet, christ and christmas;
blue salami, 9 day rains,
50 cent avocados
and purple
liverwurst.
or making it
as a waitress at norms on the split shift,
or as an emptier of
bedpans,
or as a carwash or a busboy
or a stealer of old ladys purses
leaving them screaming on the sidewalks
with broken arms at the age of 80.
suddenly
2 red lights in your rear view mirror
and blood in your
underwear;
toothache, and $979 for a bridge
$300 for a gold
tooth,
and china and russia and america, and
long hair and short hair and no
hair, and beards and no
faces, and plenty of zigzag but no
pot, except maybe one to piss in
and the other one around your
gut.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.
so be careful
when you
bend over.
doozer:
Congratulations on your week. Good luck with today.