a proven poison

Mark your calendar or Palm V. You can expect to die on:
Wednesday, June 12th 2041
At the tender age of 65 years old.

some lucky chumps get ta live till they 75. me, i got till 65. guess i gotta speed things up.

oh well.

guess hes gonna outlive me. good for him. and if this prophecy comes true, he should throw my wake; i bet its gonna be a fuckin zoo.

[ive got a nice delicate chemistry balanced here. watch as the funky rhythm falls apart.

it took two klonopin, a few stiff scotch and sodas, two healthy spliffs, two screwdrivers, a shattered glass and a slight hiccup in a loving relationship, but it all gelled so perfectly. a steady stream of words. a neon lamp in the shape of a martini. a string of icicle style christmas lights hanging across the top of the front room windows. it made up everything there ever was. it was the beginning of justice. it was a an easy moment. it was a very casual moment. then it went away. as it always does and always will do.]

it was a tough day at work. nothing i want to bore myself with transcribing though. lets just say the phrase of each passing hour was 'you know, this day is shaping up to be a real lemon."

and it did. that my friends, is a Truism.

after that great sigh i went to one of my main soldiers house and watched this movie called 'Sucka Free'. it was directed by spike lee. i think he's black or something. anyway. its good. its pretty much a small story set within the gangs of san francisco. its not as core as Menace. it aint as concerned with morals as Boyz in the Hood, and it definitely cant hold a loaded weapon to Gang Tapes, but its a pretty good character driven flick about san frans hoods. of course i was all bout it bout it cuz those my ol stompin grounds.. but in the end they kinda wernt. i hailed from fillmoe. the "western addition". most of these cats were in Hunters Point and the mission. and oh yeah, chinatown, which was kinda cool.

then i finally crashed the palace at one. and i come home to gifts. gifts from chicago. gifts from san francisco. black plates. stomping melodies. crackin tunes. six of em. im amped. im ready. im straight bustin a nut in my pants excited.

so i approach the decks. real nervous. anxious. aching for it. that CHOON. give it two me. please. make it swing. make its bass so deep my heart stutters. make the clap so hard my ear rings. make the sounds provide hallucinations. make me weep. please.

so i take the first record out of the first sleeve. my screwdriver is in the way so i set it on a speaker. i dont get the glass all the way on.

CRASH! oh no! precious precious liquor, everywhere. on all the files. the tax papers. the books. the hardwood floor. the magazines. everything.

shit.

so i gotta grab a swiffer. im drunk. ok. and i fucked up. fair enough. but dont STARE AT ME DUDE!!! im using paper towels and a dirty towel to sop most of it up -but i better pick all the shit up off the floor. what the fuck am i gonna just smoosh it into the papers? jeez. so first that then the swiffer and the staring. then the kiss. the im sorry. the me too.

[then the delicate balance. and the end of it.]