I woke at noon yesterday refreshed - the pleasure of indulging in sleep without wasting the day.
Random fragments sparsely written over a three hour sporadic game of good tune bad tune - where a best of out of three has to decide if the next song I play is a good song or a bad song. People sometimes try to play the grey area card, the Tommy Wiseau card.* That is the whole point of the game. The turns rest on imagining, based on songs I picked prior, what I would deem a good song or a bad song. I did this for a spell, and wrote the lines below as night embraced Gotham fully, than departed by cab. I hear birds killing worms all up and down my block. We still have the light of day to get through, comrades.
Racecar Pullup
I'm tripping on the numerology now alright.
What in all of all the counties of Illinois,
fallen from so queer a star as hell, rain like
great responsibility falls whenever a disposable
moralist bites the dust.
*A long time ago I sent Tommy Wiseau an email asking about my poetry and writing in general. He never wrote back. Nevertheless, The Room was a titanic influence on this blog.
No comments:
Post a Comment