what the world needs now

is more simple people. 

not long now

When Good Things Happen to Bad People

Specifically, people who have treated you poorly.

These are the times when God might as well be whispering (as you learn of their happiness),

"Crawl back into your mother's womb."

Certainly, no one deserves anything.

And fairness was not promised by anyone.

(Justice is a pretend idea.)

But to know that somewhere that person is happy

while you are still caught in their terrible wake

is more than enough reason to face the fact that

The Universe is Indifferent,

and we are all just stuck here

shitting all over each other

and the last roll of toilet paper is out.

Dandy.

The Smiths and I own the Town.

I went out with my puffy, vintage, red jacket from Father and Son's.
even though there was a chance of me getting shot.
But after two guinness and some baily's at the "flat", all alone, dancing to Quasi on the wooden floor, in the light of the octopus lamp,
I felt like the world was my fucking bitch.
So I strode all over the sidewalk and owned it.
I owned it so hard, no gangster or hobo, or hipster said a word
but it was all false and my ears were swimming with The Smiths and
the promise of some other, new bar to visit. I have not been out in a long time.
I considered myself retired. but visiting was on my mind tonight.
So I did--Uptown. And it was not that great. Lots of older people. Crowded. Some couches. I know why a douchebag liked it. Cuz it's a douchey place. Nice bartenders, but douchebaggery all around.
A jukebox without The Smiths, and they were exactly what I wanted to listen to.
The only thing anyone said all night. A fat man walking from a bar,
doing a little hand jive like I was on the pavement, to the tune in his ears,
"Orange is your color!"

I am glad you made that mistake all night long.

well I told you I lived right, but you just kept making left turns.

You turned left all night and when it was a dead end, you went straight. 

then we were up a hill and that hill had hills and that was fenced in

and I said "just drive straight over the guard rail because I live down there"

but you said "no no no, that is the direction of my house."

20th was 18th and 18th was 23rd and things were all labyrinthed around. we laughed until we found ourselves ass to ass with three other cars up a hill's hill and a taxi behind us. somehow after backing down with the parking break still on, we crept up near a park and struggling with the gate lock, the sprinklers came on and soaked our shoes.

"it's an alarm system!" we ran around in circles until we jumped the fence.

well, you did. i found another gate and walked in. 

there were swings there, and they overlooked the city and all of its chumps. there were vague flickerings of waterlike movements on the horizon and cars passed so fluidly it is a wonder they are mechanical inside at all. 

the moon was out, just peeking through a hole in the trees, and the swings made creaks out of our names. I heard a thump and thought you might've jumped off early, but you'd thrown your day-old-second-hand gold and white purse into the sand behind you and stretched your arms out at the apex of the swing arch.

the city could've laughed in your face and you would not have cared.

but damn it, why don't you turn right when i say so

the plan.

we'd have to get out of the south.

or we could get so far up in the south that it didn't even seem like the south anymore.

around those mountains up near the ash town.  

but let's do something different. just because we can.

 i have the northwest in mind for foggy and damp days and tiny, cozy homes with christmas lights all year. i would make sweet tea often.

we could have friends over for olive oil, garlic and crusty bread. with flowers and candles on the table. when they left, we would make a song and finish the coffee and chocolate tasting beer and creep around in the dark until we find each other next to the wood stove and slide into a quilted bed. all of our furniture would come from rich old ladies' garage sales. 

there'd be a studio attached, or in one of the back rooms so business would go uninterrupted. we could get part time jobs at record or book stores. i'd take bass lessons. we'd have a tv, but wouldn't turn it on. 

 the film people from the institute and i would and go on excursions to the tidepools. i'd come back with reels of footage and sand dollars and pinecones in my pockets.  you would chop wood for the fire and fix your bike up and make music with your friends. you'd use the dark room and smell like chemicals all day, but you'd have so many good shots turn out, you wouldn't care. if you were so inclined, you would visit one of the myriad strip clubs on the corners of the southeast side of town. you would take a polaroid of a stripper's boobs, and give it to me later that day. "thank you for the souveneir." I would say and I'd put it in a second hand frame.

we would laugh about the blueberries you grabbed from some hippie co-op and put them on cornmeal lemon pancakes. then we'd make mobiles out of sticks and sand dollars and pinecones and hang them above the sink in the kitchen.  i will have fed our giant black cat or dog what was left of the bird from last night, and attach a tiny wishbone with string to the mobile.

there'd be a garden out back. i would grow sage, peas, black eyed susans, basil, and roses. i would make a gross compost pile.  i'd cut up clothes that were too small and use them as colorful flags to keep birds away.

 we would go to parties on people's back porches on the weekends. they'd have houses with chipped paint, too. we would network and meet all kinds of interesting mother fucks. people who read. people who write. people in bands (and everyone is in a band.) people who make things. and people who do nothing but drink and trip and hang out under the cities' bridges. 

from them we would (on occasion) procure certain drugs, which we would do after we got back home, and put on an edith piaf record. we'd look at a book of picasso's blue period and read sad pablo naruda poems until they made us laugh.

the windowpanes would always be spiderwebbed with rain drops.

and the bed would always be warm.