I remember the whiskey and neon of those days. The sun would set at 7 pm every night over Fremont Street, and I would pretend that my childhood still stood with the El Rancho. There forever remained silver dollar-slots in my head, and the roar of a public winning the night.
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Only lies that I’m livin’.

Only lies that I’m livin’.

Don’t think twice, it’s all right.

It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don’t matter, anyhow
An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don’t know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m trav’lin’ on
Don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An’ it ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
I’m on the dark side of the road
Still I wish there was somethin’ you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin’ anyway
So don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don’t think twice, it’s all right.

Sunshine on Leith.

Sunshine on Leith.

Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed.
Friedrich Nietzsche.
You got torn apart.

You got torn apart.

Tristessa.

The beauty of things must be that they end.

1987.

1987.

In love/Out of love.

In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love.In love. Out of love.In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love.In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. Inn love. Outta love. ‘N love. Oughta love. In dove. Out to shove. Ein love. Out of glove. In and above. Out of thereof. Aside of. As of. Catch sight of. Have the better of. Make an example of. Steer clear of. No end of. In lieu of. Inside of. In memory of. In love. Out of love.

Don’t need to tell me.

Don’t need to tell me.

Warning Signs.

There are three funeral homes within a 1 km radius
of the house where I grew up.
I guess that explains why I was born so dead inside.
There’s a crick in my neck from anxious sleep in awkward positions,
from shouldering heavy thoughts. I am about to drop it all.  
In the unlikely event of an emergency, brace for impact.
Do not cross the yellow line. Remember to lift with your knees.
The cautions I read never prepare me for what I actually need.
Write me a manual on How to Survive Inside Your Own Head.
Instruct me on How to Have Dreams where You Don’t End Up Dead.
Today I made it out of bed, somehow managed to move lifeless muscles.
The spring wind had died down to a bearable whisper
so I walked beneath a whimsical sky,
a little high on painkillers and insomnia.
The Only Way to Get By is to Float Just Outside Your Mind.
Warm air wrapped itself around my body like an emergency blanket,
a shiny foil sheet catching sunlight like a silver lining.
I’m hypothermic from sadness. My brain is shutting down.
I sauntered beside the main road out of town.
There are four vacant car yards within a 1 km radius
of the house where I live now,
nothing but weeds pushing through cracks in concrete forecourts.
My body is abandoned. My mind is overgrown.
Sanity is split between three funeral homes.
You don’t know loneliness until you’ve walked along industrial streets
trying to catch the eye of steel-driving men at work
fabric clinging to hips, lips slightly parted in the heat
desperate to be appreciated by someone.
Look up. The sky is blue. Thoughts are buried.
There’s a boy with greasy hands smiling beneath a sign that declares
“Collision Repair”.

Hard.

Hard.

The X Generation.

blackness is amongst
us, setting fire -
making thick
dust of our
progress -
we are wired: cross-
tied on the inside, hollowed-eyes.

The women come and go.

The women come and go.

Three siblings dead, two critical after North Philadelphia carjacking

It’s the Beastie Boys!

It’s the Beastie Boys!