Don’t you wish that we were dead

One of my favorite bands is the Damned. There’s something about that late 70’s punk sound that, well, for lack of a better phrase, could make you sprint two miles on a treadmill without breaking a sweat. Tonight I decided to actually go out, but looking at how much weight I’ve put on, I could probably use an hour on the treadmill.
I’ll be honest, I am not really a club person. Some bars a okay. Seedy, dive bars, sure. I’m more of a homebody but it’s my friend’s birthday and he wants to take his black ass out to a goth club.
So. Yeah. But I have something special that I wrote a few weeks back and I guess now is just as good a time as any to post. It doesn’t have a name yet but it shows potential for a short story. Enjoy

Salvation in a syllable. Perpetuity wrapped in a novel came in the mail today. Some kind of lonesome way of looking for grace. Under the convenient hand that strangles my name. Can’t leave the house because I’m too afraid to face the shame. I pour me a glass of bourbon, settle into my depressive state. Loneliness isn’t quite so bad in this alternate reality. I stopped to think this as I opened Crowley’s The Book of the Law. It was 8 am but as the book opened, the night flooded my room, creaking sounds emanated through my room and a chill fell on my shoulders. I had opened the universe while sitting on my bed. I was petrified.
dave-1

time to take your medicine

Writing has created a nervous stress that I have been sedating with alcohol. I have until June to accomplish my writing goals. Tonight I figured out that for me to write a thousand words a day, I need to sit down for at least an hour.

Looking back through 20 years worth of journals filled with poems, stories, and songs is driving me bonkers. I’m pasting my past writing with the fiction I’m currently working on. I’ve found some gold and some garbage. Here’s one called Rimbaud. I’ll let you decide.

Sometimes it breaks me down,

the way you no longer feel,

pleasant memories we share no longer help, nor heal
It’s a maddening disease,

keeps me in bed, even when I no longer crave sleep

And you can’t win a war without burning bodies and twisting your enemies face

“Of course I’m jagged with insensitivity”

I’ve run out of kindness and pleasantries
I sharpen my words to disorganize your face

I ain’t scared of you mother fuckas’

Was something Bernie Mac was known for opening a set with. The last week or so I have been working on a collection of short stories. But I have also been experiencing writer’s block. Just go ahead and call me the writer who doesn’t write. However, I have been studying some of the greats…Bukowski, Lovecraft, Serling. Wong? I have stumbled across a YouTube channel that has kept me sanguine through my blues. True Crime Daily by Chris Henson/Hanson

Idk if he’s related to the Muppets guy or a god father to that god awful group from the 90’s. Either way you gotta watch it bc it currently holds my attention hostage

This was called Happy V.D. day but now…

it’s called Infatuation. It’s one poem that I am using to promote some old poems that me and my crew are calling the prequel to Digital Asylum (Still available for sale, just sayin’). These new collection of poems will be available soon, super cheap, tune in, same bat channel, same bat time kids…

Sequence of frustration
Rupture of spine spouts ghastly echoes…
-an erotic speech whistled through turtle shell
Bones we now sell
We live weeks behind public schedule
-complete but alone
Now we express our magical tendencies through words of silence
-not by pasting our faith to idle novelties