The Pointed, Enclosed, Sheep Fucker

"Roger, that guy is going fucking nuts,"
"Nah man, you overreact, he's just doing what he does"
"yeah; and that's going fucking nuts"
i walked away after that, i walked out the door, and out onto the hot asphault. it burned my canvas shoes and the sun reflecting off of the car windows shined right into my eyes. i put my shades on and started down the street. just then i heard roger scream from the window in an English accent, "who are you to conform? ya arse!"
i flipped him the bird and continued on my way. my jab as the night deli guy had given me 3 weeks off on account of me slicing a nice portion of my thumb off at the sliver. i was only on my third day and already starting to get depressed. i lived through my work not under my own rules but through the rules governed by the horseman who came before me. the centaur who followed me home each night and sat under my window howling at the half full moon and always pissing on the same hydrant. wait till the city found out about this, " city planner of my city, where are you when i need you?"
to the Waterloo....

it was only a half beyond 12 and i had not the faintest clue of where or what i should be doing. i decided i'd walk down the street until i could find and maybe develop some kind of focus and eye that could grant me with a purpose and prose. not here man, not los angeles, where they were all out to get you. the women on 5th street, the whores smelling of semen on figueroa, the deli on fairfax, the dennys on wilshire, and the numbers often went high, the taco, a pizza joint that only enforced my eagerness to piss on whatever store front i could get await with.

my dogs were barking so i snagged a seat on the metro and dead foot and uncle feets were all there and i heard a man and women talking.
the women had a book on her lap, "Art History of Spain and Portugual".
the man was this much older cat with tats up his arms and around his neck, his hair was slick and he had on a full snake skin suite. i pitty the fool. the girl blatetnly ignored him and to disrupt and interupt i asked her,
"listen, is there anything good in that book? i'm headed out that way in January and wanted to know if there was anything worth seeing?"
she looked at me with her doe eyes, not smiling, not forwning, "No, not really"
i tried to talk to her some more, but upon further investigation i realized she was a boring shallow girl. only interested in the selft insticts that made her protect the unfar, unabridged version of herself. snake man could have her.
finally my stop rolled around and i exited like cattle just like the rest of this cattle. cattle on a rolling wheel tin can, feel sorry and unapologetic for out ant outlandish imprtance for the cut up skill. like a film high above and Apollo hanging out on his cloud looks down and laughs at the ants trembling under foot like we're building an empire, but don't you know man sheep sure enough fight amongst eachother too. it's the man with the iron pants and the skull made of leather bound text books. govenor aborne with the avon lady don't have a chance. the youth are pissed and disturbed. we all walk the same steps with our heads down all depression one another things that were taught right alongside with our nursery rhymes. at 4am the sun comes around the bend and my uncle takes a rock and pawns it out across the land and over the hill. the rock disappears over the brush to never be seen again and i sit with my head down as he takes a slug from the whiskey can, the whiskey bottle, the whiskey canteen.

the best thing for me to do was to go back to my apartment and walk around with my cold stale coffee cup and my shirt off, wearing my fedora galora and type up a letter to this girl out at Pepperdine College. she was stinking rich, her parents owned a horse stable and several mares. i wasn't much for riding but damn hell i liked to watch them run down the track. i got to the point where i could run $2 bets for 4 races and win enough to account for my enterance fee, gas, and a couple beers. so it was a way to pass time and not have to break into my now dwindling savings. it impressed me so but when the bets reached over $2 i was sure to lose, it was just Polo Apollo laughing high up on his white frothy cloud. what a champ, sitting up there with Z and all the other top shots. it was like a board meeting for AIG or Enron, they would eventually abolish themselves and outloud the bad legends. i wonder what it would be like when apollo declared bankruptcy.?

suddenly there was, this man, a brotha, wearing a tall mad hatters hat and waving a slow sign was a traffic man for the city workers, at a boy city planner, get some soul out on the concrete, the man was dancing to his own tune and was succesfully getting attention of the driveres with his mad moves. he'd take the sign and hold it with both hands and dance like a snake looking for prey. i watched him for a few and when he contended me with his eyes i shouted,
"go man go!... ride the scales!"
i continued walking on but the depression started dissapating and i felt much better, the man had taken my laugh and warped/twisted it around so i couldn't help but smile away like the priest watching the fairground and searching for souls to save. but i was just sauntering through the place, i had no place in riding the first wheel of fall or taking the bumper out for a spin, i had to make it home watching the time slip and sound slip into the behind hills where my uncle took that rock so long ago. i saw the priest walk towards me, biting his lower lip, eager to grant me serentiy and overtake the underpart of my sole. (shoe sole, not soul soul, there is a different part that rides inside, the shoe sole is much harder and has taken and can take a beating, the soul soul is only singular and can not take the amount of fornication the earth has bounced down onto our dreary little heads. its the passing of time that kills the soul soul. the sole only becomes more fierce over time and they are two but not one, so it's a gang deal more than anything, they won't evaporate. they can't be rewound so it only fades after a time. but hopefully by the time i'm good and done i can stand barefoot in front of heavens door and say,

"hey man!, my soul is hard and worn, my souls and head are under a storm, allow me into the gates back to earth, i want to be reborn and experience something worse!"


TBC