Mudspeak

Adam and James
Here in the dark, I'll say your names
Breathe your skins up from the carpet stains
Coffee wine wine sweat vodka water saliva blood vodka salty
Say it with me now boys, no shame no shame
Let's learn our lessons
Five times over
To hell and back
Follow me down the bottle, boys
Breakin' promises and spillin' prayers
Through rum soaked hair and slices of rye--
Mm, ain't this all the way to-



I do not think I can say either is worse than the other, or better for that matter. They are simply different, and each in its own season seems worse; the dust in this season or the mud in the next. They are both the dirt, and will both do whatever it is that the dirt does. They both kind of suck.

Happy people of a certain sort make me sad. Is that fucked up? It sounds pretty fucked up. It feels fucked up. But I haven't been able to do anything about it.

This cat's couch is comfortable, very comfortable; but there is something outside of the picture that is not. His comfort is fuzzed. There, see, his eyes--dark and bright like that--he is looking for another couch. He is wanting another couch. I wonder if cats ever want anything more than complete comfort. I wonder if this is a thing that is even possible, for any animal.

So...so the key here is to spread yourself thin. So thin your skin is like--no, no fuck you--so thin you can touch the edges of everything--anguish, ecstasy--and this is more maddening than drowning in any one thing entirely, I am beginning to suspect. Drinking is lovely but this is better. This is Tantalus' Tongue, for who are we to say that he is being so seriously, so unfortunately punished? The gods have their deviant ditches; I must imagine them sympathetic to those men who do as well. He is not in hell; not the way he is said to be, at least. He just resides there. He comes for the place, not the people. Some places must be gone to for some things to happen. Would Tantalus have been allowed his strange existence anywhere else? Would it have worked? If you are to go to hell, do not go because you have been told you are damned; go because that is where the goddamn parties are.

I can't tell whether my words are devolving or evolving into sounds. The sounds are the more...accurate. But also the easier of the two. So are they the best? Or do they have a ways yet to go? Where the fuck are they going, anyway? What do they intend to do? Sounds are safer, too. It is too easy for it to sit easy with me. I feel I must be cautious of this, wary of it, lest I become--but there was a story by Borges like this wasn't there?

I do not admire Odradek in the least times like these. I would deck him across the room if I felt it would do anything, but it wouldn't. So I won't.
My disdain hides affection; but that does not mean the disdain is not present and quite real as well.