To Fall, and To Hit Hard, But To Touch A Bit of Soft (Again)

(Swampthang (test shot for TOMB, of Barking Wall), 2010)

I am not alone.

I am not alone.

I am not alone.

I am not alone.

(and can I get a goddamn somewhere in there)

...alone, goddamn!

When the sherif and I arrived to my place there was nothing left, it was all gone, everything, my undies were all over my neighbor's yard, my books covered in animal pee, and bit and pieces of familiar looking things all shattered across 4 acres of land. I was homeless, and nothing, I'll tell you, nothing really hit me. I missed the shockwave of devastation, I dodged the face of terror, I lived a shotgun blast to my entitlement, and I felt nothing changed. The sherif opened my door as I just sat there, looking for a face to make it appear I was concerned, but by the time that door opened I just got up, and said thanks in the straightest voice I had and proceeded to walk with him. I gave a hotdamn, and said something funny, and heard a silent shit from the sherif, a sorrybud, and a long and quiet wellllll(sigh). He went over to his car, reached into his glove compartment, and walked back to my side, he said here, I looked down to his hand, and there it was, a 6oz flask, with the words, "GRAND MASTER FLASK" written on its side. I took a few swigs, and nothing hard could slow me now I said to myself, and with that I finished the whole damn flask. When I was done, the sherif said his goodbyes, and left me before I can return what was his.

In the summer of 89', I was homeless, and decided to travel. And so, I finally did, with a rush of goodbyes to each and every face I can grab in a day, I took off like a 30 year old fart, puffff.