heres how you know when you can shut down my feeding tube: when i can no longer blog.
ive been blogging in one way or another since i was a lad. we just didnt know that it was blogging, but it was.
when i got into school i would rarely pay attention.
i would write little stories for the ladies in the house to read and tell me how clever i was.
i would draw pictures next to my stories.
i would integrate current events into the fiction,
and of course it would end in a perfectly iambic couplet.
all the girlies said ho
ho ho
and now nothings any different except i dont have to draw crazy pictures and i dont have to fold my stories into little squares and pass them along.
so if the day ever comes when im hooked up to some crazy machinery and i cant type or i cant tell little tall tales then accidentally trip over my juice.
dont listen to the born-agains. if anything remind them that good Christians go to the promised land. the better place. the world of milk and honey (even though im not all that crazy about honey).
if they try to cockblock you remind them that i hated most born agains for being phony and for trying to use their faith as power when it should only be a reminder that we’re Loved and there is hope for us.
period.
believing in a higher being doesnt mean that you Know more than the next person, or that you are better than anyone, all it should mean is that you’re buying this stuff about the man upstairs.
and if the man upstairs looks down on this big blue marble and doesnt see tony pierce writing little procrastination pieces for the lovelies then something is definately wrong in denmark.
and thats when my brief candle should be blown out out
and bury my dirty bones in isla vista
so that i may hear the rattle of skateboards
and smell the smoke of burnt couches
and so i can hear frustrated students
slam down their beers and yell
fuck iambic couplets