Brainlick

when i was about 14, i lived in a desolate place that had no record stores or outlets for people into punk and non normal music very much, aside from taking long trips, and finding  a rare jem in a bargain bin somewhere, thrift shops or coming to Ukiah to pick up tunes. i liked heavy metal as much as the next person around, and we had no way to hear it thrown across the airwaves but to build a huge antenna. the antenna wasn't that huge...  it only consisted of a few units, some attached by wire line and spanned from the mobile home to the outer shed.  the shed not only selved as storage, but also a hideout and secret place that myself and my comrades could go and play video games on dying color and black and white televisions that were scavenged from dumpsters, trash piles, or by trading various currencies, ie: cigarettes, drugs, booze, games, tapes, and other stuff.  The one antenna that went from the shed's feed lines were split so that the stereo in the shed and the house

"OH I'd BET YOU'D LOOOVVVE TO PLAY A SHOW OR A PARTy, HUH, You fucking junkie pervert motherfucker",  the guitarist barked at me after i asked the group if we were even gonna ever play anything or if this was the Heavy Meatall thing and the Throw Olly under the Bus thing.  everyone turned their head.  and i could hear them gigle a little bit, snicker, and then work on yet another fucking metal thing. i was being cut out. "well" , thought to myself...  "what to do, what to do???" my literary agency wants me to live with my mom forever 'cause she thinks its okay, and i'm like young and all that, so... okay whatever.  Maybe i can stop slamming every damn substance into my body in the meantime, learn how to sleep... eat food again, remove myself from the reigns of ickyness. Joni Mitchell was right, that jealous loving will make you crazy.

this redundancy has riddn a foul course in my brain and body. no longer do i wish to park my carcass at some old man bar and try to reason with them regarding early 80's punk rock and new wave bands and which residents album is best.  the point is beyond moot. medication is nothing, of course this is a grabby hand issue regarding which demons are in control at the time, and who the fuck is driving.