And then I was born a snow flake falling from February when heaven is black. I slipped down silent laughing long and loud. About the knees of those diseased I played in Pittsburgh playgrounds; steel structures raised me. Strapped on metal blades I swept through rinks like humming through piano strings and stings of brushburns rampburns knees, ripping, rolling, wrecked on rails. In my eighteenth year I ruled the world with my mates in pool room basements. I rolled the dice and ended nicely with the rebels into Australia. I mated was mated was missing those miss's - got a bj in a go-cart. I am the drive boy dog boy dirty numb angel boy in the door way boy she was a lipstick boy in the tinhorn boy got whipped like an angel derailed. Hid my portrait in a closet and set out to be monstrous and one Gray day I walked on Kentucky Ave...AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!! the wisps round that soundly lit, unleveled, three tiered chunk of Elysium…met the seekers, slurping wisdoms lollipops, and HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…burgers back yard lit likeVegas gotraped the flag is stained with Bacchus’ spittle spoken like a bard bit a poison apple. I found I fucked Anais Nin ere I’m here by mom fucked anon. Letters! Letters! Packing the camel. I cleaned my dusty brains with Nietzsche’s mustache and breathed fire like I had dragons eyes! Then, Berlin with punks and pounding Ezra and Absinthe and Kerouacian knapsack poor on the streets in Holland and finally Praha, ha, hahahahaha…the mad thing is not that men have created roses from the dung heap, but that, for some reason or another, they should want roses. Prowling around me are the listless, loveless, lackadaisical somnambulates; no clue that there’s nothing to worry your brow, wrinkle your youth, wreck and ravage and rape your virgin ass…all of us thinking we’re all made of glass…I grew a beard atop a mountain in Montana praying to God that he ceases to exist or begins to exist or actually I don’t give a fuck…he can kiss my chaotic ass or not as I hump and eat and shit and holler. This song is all that my language puts a tongue in till the OOO’s and AAA’s go up like Independence, Hey, don’t look at me that way…like this ain’t me cause what do you know, who do you really know you knowers of everything with chaos within your skulls. Costa Rica smoke with Tica’s surfing with Greco’s shoulder tingling and singing singing singing that we should all grab a hold of Whitman’s beard where hidden are the points of the compass. Well, I stole an angels halo, hung it o’er my horns and now I soar through the heavens daily—looking down at the places with angelic faces and my harp’s still my pen bleeding evil on clouds. A priori - a posteriori - a posse ad esse - a caelo usque ad centrum - a bene placito.From the former - from the latter – from being able to being – from the sky to the center – from one who has been pleased well.
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