caption: Charles Bukowski and his cat Manx, ca. 1985. Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens.
New index card doodle! ^_^ Part of my index card series! I will have a bunch of these mini prints for a dollar at the Santa Ana Artwalk! It will be this saturday from 6-10pm in the Santa Ana Plaza in Downtown Santa Ana! Hope to see you guys there! More details on the artwalk on my facebook page: www.facebook.com/artbybeverly
All 12, neatly arranged in boxes.
I am a silly bus riding tourist
Pretending to be a Dane
Shh quiet you loud Americans
When I wake up I am Danish
it is too early to be an American
And I am just so tired
there is a skull on my mug and i think that my mug might be my skull
i am trying to keep my eyeballs from falling out of my head
(They have had enough abuse
and there is talk of unionization)
as I walk to the bus stop at 12:34 am.
the dry wind burns as I step
on a slightly green tinted plastic bag.
We are just meat bags and blood sacs
adversising ourselves to other
meat bags and blood sacs.
Feel slightly nauseated and insane
listening to the errie symphony of beeps that is
See myself trying to use a bag of weed as a bus pass, a simple mistake.
Overhear Arabic, attempt to understand Arabic,
I am constantly humbled by my ignorance of the world.
(maybe “shamed” is a better word)
Realize I could try and change this, if i wanted to,
but i am too lazy and fat.
Realize if I forget about myself then this blood bag will ride the bus for infinity.
And that would be bad.
Because it has class
at 8:30 am on Monday mornings.
wrote so many words and now i feel responsible for them
i think about this while moving shreds of cloth to higher ground
sniff each, although this is largely a formality,
and then tuck them in.
the phlegm in my throat and my cigarettes are conspiring against me.
they volley me back and forward until i am drowning in my own lung juice.
open my window and breath in the sun rays like the spaghetti you swallowed without finishing because you couldn’t be bothered with chewing and now i can feel the thick handfuls marinating in phlegm coated in cancer and choking me, choking you
now it’s dark and there is no sun because i ate it all, consumed it as it
Porto cats and cigarettes
And pineapple juice
And i am pressing all the
Things i just listed into a
Face (not mine) with clay
My face feels cold too, but yours feels warm.
It’s a part of my face and
everyone else can see it
but I can’t see it.
Jazz cats, juice and gin - FUCK
It pours the day into a glass
watch as it moves into the night
I think westboro baptism is closet homosexuality/self-loathing projected as dogma
I hope the universe is a soft wet warm
Indifferent flock of butterflies i hope will come together to hug my penis
i take a picture of a church with my phone
the phone belongs to me
therefore the church belongs to me
I tend to walk around with a mirror because I’m unable to see my own face
I think each of us is limited to a singular death brought on by a singular instrument, whatever that ends up being
of everyone’s google searches/Facebook activity is slated as a person’s continuation after death
I play the “what if” game while I scroll
try on different realities with casual ignorance (arrogance)
Snort a line, and repeat
the same goddam thing I have been doing since birth - what else ?
consume and then console
myself - death takes it’s time.
Death is the small of life
or life isn’t taking its time
I am paying a televangelist to proselytize about my life like a religion
but he still channels
his own ego
Angel Olsen - NPR Tiny Desk Concert
too in love
i am aware that i am a “broken record”
i don’t i don’t i don’t want to be a person person person
i drunkenly echo. puke off the balcony
while the train is coming and going again.
we go “out for drinks”
exchange slips of paper and metal disks for an hour of purpose.
i light a cigarette to prolong my purpose.
i see you wondering in the dark, “what’s the point”
so we leave, and scream at the happy couples passing by:
AND SO DO WE