Like Achilles In the Attic

One time I went to a rainbow gathering. I had taken clothes from the rainbow family. It was the last time we were in New York, before the Alpha Institute, and Weston, and the rifle. A birthday scare. Fog in the woods. My whole life flashing before my eyes. Return to the page. Making a return to the page. A prayer. Praying her in the valley of ghosts and memoirs and masters. Now sixty percent of the way through Vanity Fair. The redhead looking at my hand for a wedding ring. Twenty two carat gold from her jeweler father, It belonged to somebody else before it belonged to me. The inside of the band is inscribed. We got married while in Paris. Her father performed the ceremony. Her family bore witness. Another step upon the holy path. Continuing now, to backpain and a liquor store in the rearview. The blood of McBeth streaming down the windshield. Will they have twitter books in this personal heaven of mine? Bring us in to the twenty second century. Save our ship. Only Appropouture can. Bibles. Call me Libels. I’ve got EataDick on the line. We are shouting in an empty room. In this space everyone can hear you scream. Deep House Wife likes New York. Renata likes New York. People in New York like that I am from Salt Lake City. I don’t want to play Destiny even though I know that Xur is in the tower. I don’t want to go to sleep even though I know that dreams are the best adventures.

We are Destouches and lIlli and the Bebert. They haven’t heard of my nazzi hero here even though they sell a book of his first thesis piece.

Writing like Achilles in the attic of our house. Failing though the words may stream the screen. Ganja Sufi give me life. lorde and taylor. Do you see the struggle? There is so much written in the whitespaces which at least I see. Being present in the struggle must provide you some alightment.

The girl is asleep in the bed. We only see each other in sleeping positions. She kisses my face and I kiss her’s. It is a backseat drive because I know that I’m supposed to grab the wheel, but I’m trying. It takes some all day to compose a comma. Here, look. I love my grandma.


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