ON THIS EPISODE: Busta ass politicians; the great Huey Long; C. Free was psychically attacked; the rapper who cut off his penis; the temptation of Lucifer; and mind controlled Illuminati slaves! Download Ep
I’m a guest on Cfreetherapper’s podcast this week. Check it out. We had a lot of fun making it.
Rocking it out in NOLA. We’re playing another show on August 2nd at The Allways Lounge. Come on through.
Going all the way in with my band. And then cheesing about it.
This is me and Sage Francis after he punched me in the balls with love.
Sage Francis in NOLA this Thursday!
NOLA Folks! Mark your calendars! This Thursday Sage Francis is coming to town and we’re opening. Send me a message for some cheap presale tickets.
So this is happening next week in NOLA. Come on out.
It’s Talk-To-Yourself-Day at the pharmacy
and I’m feeling left out. Nobody told me
I’d have an illness armed to the teeth
I’d get faster help from the counter if my arms
were cratered with sores open as late
as the good bars in New Orleans.
Bumblebee costume? Do you.
Gunshots in the morning? What’s a daycare to do?
Nobody will find the body in that church
parking lot until tomorrow afternoon.
I fell asleep while writing you this letter.
Woke up and it was finished.
I died as soon as I opened my eyes.
My first words were my past life’s last.
One child’s sandcastle is the next man’s glass house.
Nothing will give us meaning more than the silence we stole.
More than the time we spent
trying to say I love you through a key hole.
A face I hardly knew is a place I used to call home.
The first girl I ever loved
told me if I wasn’t careful
I’d die alone. Whatever happens I’ll wait.
Even when I’m so old my catheter aches.
Even when our children
hate to admit they’ve forgotten
about us since they had their own.
Our memories are not even inside of us
anymore. They’re scatterbrained clicks
on a typewriter slowly running out of ink.
Time limps along as strong as an infant arm wrestling.
A rock in a pond in reverse. The ripple returns
to its initial sink. When the water gets two feet high
and rising who wouldn’t ask for a stiff drink?
God is not drunk. You are.
Who knew love would be a time machine
bringing us back to our childhoods
which pass ever so slowly and forever
like fireflyless pastures
in front of rain-soaked-train-windows?
One of my earliest memories is blinking
while sitting on the bricks of the fountain waiting
to be picked up after grammar school after all the other kids
have long gone. I’m trying to write a song. I’m pretending
to be Axl Rose. My brother knows how to play
the solo from November Rain on the piano.
Mom forgot to pick us up again. I’m acting
like this is the biggest problem on the planet. I’m asking
my brother why grass is blue and sky is green. He ignores me.
Again, I’m in my skin by myself. I figure I’m not enough. I’ll try harder.
How old do you think mom and dad are? Must be
really old. Have you seen how tall they are? I mean
Dad’s a mountain. Mom’s that flagpole. Did you ever feel bad
after you smashed all those tadpoles?
The way they whisper in front of us makes me worried
they speak a language we won’t learn on our own.
The way they raise their voices through the ceiling
after we go to bed makes me think the carpet
in our bedroom is wet because the cat made a mess.
Full of heart or heartless, twenty-five years from now I’ll wonder
why I can’t sleep sober or without touching my phone
or with my feet on the bed. Do you think mom will say wait
until your dad gets home if I dip my shoes in this fountain?
How long do you think we’ll have to wait this time?
What if he comes home and he’s somewhere else?
Like he’s tired or just got fired or tried everything
he already knew how to make glue out of words?
What if they made clothes out of Band-Aids?
How do invisible things stick together? Why don’t the birds
just fall out of the sky? I can’t wait to go home.
I don’t think death would be so bad.
It’s the dying part. That’s the rock to the wasp nest.