fuckin' out of my mind, poetry from my journal

[bfj]

Jesus is found
at the end of
a long................
line of cocaine.
God is neither
Hansel or Gretel.
He doesn't leave
bread crumbs
for you to find him.
or maybe he does.
Faith is only
found
when someone is
looking.

here's another.

cafes leave me so
uninspired
What can be expected

from a house of desperate thinkers?
Put me in a bar
instead
and I'll find my inspiration
in a crowd of
desperate drinkers.

[Sloth]

Burnt, I enjoyed those actually.

America has just awful cafes. I mean, what is more depressing than a bunch of winy psuedo beat people wearing black and drinking coffee at 8 o clock in the evening? And those are the good ones. The bad ones are Starbucks with yuppies checking their stock portfolios on their i-Macs or Dell's.

European cafes are much better. For one, they serve alcohol from open to close. For two... I don't know where I am going with this or why I am writing when I am so hungover at 8:51 am on a sunday.

[Sloth]

Ouch! Me po' heid!

[bfj]

me too, i woke at 130pm, up till 6 last night. found Jack lying on my basement floor and me cat eating the bugs off his face.

"i got a bad liver
and a broken heart.
I drunk me a river
since she tore me apart.

I don't have drinking problem
'cept when I can't find a drink"

[Jack Chiefdon]

Mc sorry for the calls, I hope my gentle voice brought you inspiration. So what did you like better, The Piano has been drinking or God bless America? I was listening to Journey Through the Past on vinyl and someone started singing God Bless America, I was transfixed, so I thought I'd share the song with many, many people at 4:00 in the morning.

[bfj]

All the beautiful girls
on a Sunday afternoon.
With their baby showers
and shopping.
They surround my screaming bowels
as I sweat out toxins
Feeling toxic to myself
and them.
It's only morning for me
on a Sunday afternoon.
So where has the day gone?
And the beautiful girl,
where has she gone?

[bfj]

My house is chaos.
With the table filled with ash,
the cat licking
the steak knife blade.

Four years in boxes
and no one wants to unpack them.
Four years in boxes
that no on wants to look at
wants to remember
those days
when everything
seemed
to make sense.

[bfj]

Little rainbows
and little hearts
we used to decorate
the tables and walls.

Little cracked kisses to
push each other away.
Getting farther and further apart
until we couldn't recognize each other.

I ended up in the depths
and she
somewhere better.
But I wouldn't know what better is.

[marky]

Those are nice, Jake.

But screaming bowels...? Uh...ew.

[bfj]

yeah, life can be pretty ugly sometimes, screaming bowels and all.

[marky]

Just occured to me that would be an excellent band name.

Screaming bowels makes me think of being a heroin addict.
It's certainly a powerful phrase.

[bfj]

The name of my band is "Sugar Coated Tampons."

[bfj]

They butchered Raidiohead
down
at
the local bar.
That's when I knew I had to leave.
So I waded through
three feet of blood
and 5-6 drunks on the floor
reaching the door
and
stumbling out into the street.
Only to be met by
screaming ambulences
with hands to my ears
--being chased down Main St.
by everything I've ever done.
And through the doors
of another
and past the kitchen
of the only,
I committed myself
to rambling up the road
past every suburban window
framing Bob Kostas,
reporting live
from Athens
on the state of patriotic pedophillia.

...i wish i was special
you're so fucking special...
out of tune.

[mccutcheon]

Don't take the spactula.

[bfj]

too late, we had a fist fight for the spatula, and i barely won. so... what have you been up to McCutcheon?