steak n shake + mark died two days ago now. damn queen. he could curse his way out of the labrynth. saw a conscious being in tiny statues and figurines and related to them as if he were their gaurdian. he was mine. even into death. his last drive in the caddy was to pick me up from jail. his last joint smoked was with me in the night air. his last steps into my sinking house and the jaring reality of its constant state of confusion. and yet death took him on with no thought of me in mind, or his whereabouts, or what he was wearing, fer that matter. stark naked. black socks. so beautiful. a 56 year old man, tufts of skin on the end of his nose, chosen look of frustration, the beat down, the pen went out of ink, always the ultimate victim, gay, southern, wounded, poor, white, trash, man, woman, whichever suited him best at the moment. in the end i didnt feel sorry for him at all. he wore his death like a queen wears a royal gown, and even his wretched sisters had to bow down. i wonder if he was still there when i propped him up, leaving him there to be seen, to be naked. i think one should always pay the body respect, but be the most gentle in death.  i think he was the most gentle ol bitch ive ever met. stubborn fool. whose fault is it but your own?