sup + i gave her my best shot. she shot me down
she had me in her sights as the man
she showed no fear, she took the stand
she had me lookin just like a clown
i gave her my best shot, she shot me down
my vision was hasy, id lost my aim
didnt have the time to find someone to blame
but ya should have heard the sound.
i gave her me best shot
and she shot me down.

WATCH THE BIRDIE + is it u im tryin to get a hold of? my momma? my son? my self? why are u so slippery, so sovereign? cherries have more control over gravity than these feeble arms have over a God like you. You just take everything over, do it all to yer own glory, write yer own story, the size of the universe itself. dont i get a chapter? a page? a breif of dialogue?  u have written so much of my story, least i know u held the pen in yer hand. now how does my story sound to you? is there wrath in store for me? compassion? hatred on your lips, or understanding?  you are not stupid, but perhaps i am for not always curling up in prayer at your feet, not putting real roots in yer dirt, not growing from your light, all this time. holding on to you holding on to me. let go, let God, let go.

Dunday Morning + Corn wiskey in my coffee at 10 its no wonder im pissing in the bed at night. Likens itself to the rest of the shit i eat fer breakfast everyday. The whole world is full of preservtives, little peices that crowd out the meat, cling to the cells, stay there forever. Society has been declared to last forever and it only even exists in our minds. We are making it like its meth, and im so high i cant hear the smoke alarms goin off. Theres enough in my brain to shake a stick at, but most peolple got theirs stuck up their ass, so the smoke just thickens till an explosion is inevitable, and everybody ends up running around in public, trying to keep their skin on. Ive only heard that story. never seen it in real life. What I have seen looks like corn wiskey poured in my coffee by hard werkin hands on a Sunday morning, its strong, is bad fer yer health, and even in the throws of it i can hear you reaching out for the leaves and the promises of the earth and moon and fire and God. we'll shortly have no other place to go, i spose, if the stories are true. i just hope we can get out of our skin before EVERYTHING goes up in flames.

full monty + so there i was, naked, in the full light of the sun, under the eyes of everybody and the Lord. All my junk was hangin out. im gettn skinnier, look sickly. top half looks like the grinch and the bottom like tinkerbell. lies and the culture round em paint a picture of stress on my face, the eyes say stay away from me. somebody told me i dont get enough affection. damn straight, id say, and it shows. everybody knows my habits, my lurking in the dark corners, my crying in the street, reving my engine, breaking glass. dont judge me. i am not someone else. i am you. and fer God's sake will somebody give me my clothes?

And so its back at it. Decidedly this summer swished by and me with it. You may have seen me out and about, who knows, maybe I healed your sick dog, or fixed your steps. I don't remember, but how are you? I saw you dancing at the Metal Museum, to rave music. I saw you drinking alone at Murphy's at three in the afternoon. I heard you on the radio, cringing about something to music. You've had a busy summer, too.
And now autumn is here. It is raining here in Memphis for the first time in two months. The wind drives it in on horseback, whipping the poor things with metal tipped tails! The trees are falling down in its rush, dried out to the point of breaking. The earth is soaking it up in boxes. I am staying inside, not like the birds. They are swimming.
I did get out this morning though. Raced out to pay rent, forcing Ms. Bantura off of her oxygen. She was winded at the door as I counted the money slowly. The rain had stopped for only a moment, and I drove back to town to get a cup of coffee. The deck became a waterfall as we smoked cigarettes and talked of the storms damage so far. Blackness, wetness, doors slamming, leaks, a crushed motorbike, mud.

KNOW THY ENEMY + I do not know myself. The southern sun is kissing the city low, below the belt line. They are not dishonest kisses. The sun will be around tomorrow, when this city is gone. The sun has no fear of abandonment. I am working it out, waking up early to be with my father, to be with my brother. I am trying to build on an old foundation. I am trying to fix a leaky boat, before the water rises. I feel alone still, wrapped in a blanket of oldness. I have takin off the dark glasses. I am cleaning the dust off old wounds, old fears. I feel for my friends, who have fallin victim to my ignorance. Hold me to my words, that I might speak less, and let them fall away under what I do. I am still learning how to do.
When God shows his face to me, will I recognize it? Will I have to rely on the context, or will I know Him by his gait, the way his eyes wrinkle in a smile? I am still learning how to smile like Him.
I am eating your soup, that you cooked for us. It is old now, and getting soft. It has not lost its potency, but grown more accustomed to itself, floating in its own water. I am looking up your name on the internet, to discover what you portray to those you do not know. I am hiding the clothes you left in my room, because I cannot find my own. I am talking about you in my dreams, with people I do not recognize. They are not listening.
My thoughts are not in line, and they never will be. I am a wave, that is a circle that flows in and out of this box. I cannot justify my own existence, nor the existence of God. I can only justify the hammer, and the shovel, and the soup, and my teeth. Everything else is up for grabs. Everything else is already missing or on Ebay. I do not know myself. How can I know you?

ARKABUTLA + It was a day trip. We left The Castle behind to fade into the cold and drove down HWY 51 towards the outer counties. Sunday's lend themselves to church, whether you go to a building or a lake.

ARKABUTLA + It was a day trip. We left The Castle behind to fade into the cold and drove down HWY 51 towards the outer counties.

SNOW + When I woke up this morning it was another good reason to get up. I hadn't seen snow since...Flagstaff or, no, maybe Wolf Creek on the Divide. It makes the cold suffer less. Things get lighter. People share their chicken.
Last night it was falling when I left the Lamplighter, casting a romantic light on everything. We laughed and kissed and danced in it, even hugging the bum that came hustling.

REASON + Dunno why but I am attracted to certain things. Some things give me a smile, turn my head. Loose leaves blowing across the street, the cold air. Beautiful people, who spend their time smiling inside, and shed light like a Christmas ornament, or even the way the toes curl at just the right moments. I am holding on to this attachment to things, rather than the prescribed sentimentality that gleams from our television screens. I am choosing to follow the leaf down the street. I am choosing to know why the toes curl when they do.
Today, everything's up in the air like toast. I don't know what's coming down.