Sunday, July 28, 2019


Back of the car coming back from Amish country when I got the text
His guy had come through and he could hook me up tomorrow before the stone setting
Waiting for the man can be a dubious affair; it can also be the only thing that exceeds expectations when your whole life is one car crash after the next

Escaping reality these tortured days is a prerequisite to protecting the light that is our soul
Everything is a drug so it’s best to do the good drugs because waiting around to die only proves beyond fruitless in a Townes Van Zandt soundscape of shit kicking cowboys and the bareback mountains they’re afraid to climb
I tell people my inner child is a monkey and they always laugh because they don’t seem to get how much truth I’m spilling as another phoenix goes up in smoke

My art has saved me from a life of doldrums and lethargy, but it’s best not to envy me because I too often live hand to mouth as I await the creativity to kick in and transport me from this labyrinth of sleep and PTSD
You want to know the truth well I can only disclose so much at any given time as I daydream about Kat Boyd walking down the Glasgow streets
When I’m in the grips of a writing jag there’s no better high and as I await my next poetic journey lighting the pipe and listening to the Gods in my head keeps me spry and in fighting shape

I’ve known him since high school and he never fails to astound me with how laid back he is in a crisis of conscious and twisted steel
I like to think of him as the Godfather like Brando was once upon a time
Waiting for the next Lou record to drop because you cannot accept that he’s dead and in the meantime driving the spike in takes away some of the agony of having to wake up only to die all over again

Charles Cicirella

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