Saturday, September 7


my friends are really the best ones.
how do i know?
well, for starters,
because i'm only interested in worthy warriors and poets,
active participants, raging stormswept gypsies,
werewolfen wild animals, and beautiful women.
but i'm not as shallow as it sometimes seems-
i'm just selective about what ingredients i add to my life.
the object is always more, of course,
but only more of the hottness that takes being alive to eleven.
that's a thing.
so when i'm putting out a call-to-arms for friends and neighbors
and woodsly goodfellowship an' that,
i want what i want,
and it's gotta be comprised of a very specific set of attributes-
i'm not sorry about it, either.
i want those competent and capable communicators,
interpersonal innovators,
hard-style activators,
title-page dedicators,
and irregular extraordinary expert individuals, y'know?
i know you know.
it's that simple two-step standard that applies to all of it,
as it all always actually really happens-
just be dope, or F* right off.
that's it, neighbors.
no in-betweens.
speaking of being dope,
and showing gratitude and generosity,
i'll be wiping clean my incidentally peanut-buttered mustache
on brand new cloth-type seasonally-appropriate napkins
as i crunch my way through a slice or three of toasty british bread
while i sip on my massive mug of irish breakfast tea.
i'm like a veritable peace accord in my kitchen sometimes.
i got new treats, out of the blue, and in shades of orange.
check the my-friends-are-better-than-yours-type teleport:
lucky me.
i've got site-specific reminders of my one close-by close friend
keeping me company when i'm by myself.
(which is almost all the time, really)
on the ones-
i just cannot handle good people.
but, for realsies, though.
i do a lot of stuff,
and i keep it pretty real,
but mostly because i'll always be an old and busted gnarled bard;
a cynical sh!t-talking cyrano;
a homely howitzer of harried homily...
so it stands to reason that words and deeds will be forever necessary
to outshine the glaring glower and anti-glamour of my F*ing face.
stay ugly, stay dope, duders.
that's SO a thing.
let's be honest...
i'm not saying i'm not rad,
i'm just saying it doesn't really matter.
that went kinda far off topic.
what i meant was,
in regards to my favorite lissome lady-
if you're already gonna be super-pretty,
you probably don't need to also be super-nice.
i mean,
it just sort of ruins it for everyone else.
and also,
thanks for the treats.
the thing of it is,
i choose the wrench.
every time.
the hardest style,
the worst way,
the only thing that really matters.
if it's easy,
it isn't worth it.
reward is measured by the degrees of difficulty inherent in the undertaking.
if it doesn't hurt,
it doesn't mean a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

No comments: