4/4 time, rhythmic. Pulsing. The camera zooms to the beat. The beat is red on the downbeat, green on the upbeat. It just IS. 3R 2T.
So where you gonna go now, bitch?
Yeah, that’s what I thought. It’s all in your head, isn’t it? It’s all there. It’s not just a rationalization on my part, is it? Nah, nah, nah, hey hey hey, good shut the front door.
That kid’s holding the pretzel. And I thought twice about it. Then I DID IT. I told him to knock his shit off. I made him delete half his post. I did. I did. I had to? You see? I HAD TO. Fuck you if you don’t like it. It was out of line, ya see. Ya see?!? OUT OF LINE. And I took it upon myself to take a little vigilante justice.
But remember this, if you remember anything: the ONLY way to get away with anything is to NEVER speak of it. Those dirty little deeds? Uh uh uh, only for you. Don’t breathe a word. Don’t brag. Resist. Don’t tell. Don’t hint. Feign ignorance. You’ll be happy. I’ll be happy. They’ll be none the wiser.
Oh, yeah, that beat. I was reminded of it. I was feeling it. Like the time my friend, Kurt, was being given a hard time from the base police in Orlando simply because he was wearing tights under his shorts. It was civilian clothes, so what? Ugliest dude but got some really hot chicks. There’s a lesson there, fellas. Either way, purple haze took on a whole new meaning with that guy from Delaware. We were walking down the street and he’s dropped an 8-ball laced with Acid. Didn’t you know that Acid doesn’t show up on drug tests in the military?
I saw more drugs IN the military than OUT of it.
Sometimes you forget. Sometimes Thich Nhat Hanh tells you that you need to stop and be mindful. So you are. But then you forget again. And the beat goes on and all you get is just a comeon from the whores on seventh avenue.
Don’t ask why the downbeat is red. For the love of Jeebus, don’t you dare fucking ask. Don’t. Just don’t. Irene’s here name and it is night. Don’t go any further with it. (any David Lynch fans out there?)
Power up, tilt it back.
The monster trucks were bucking broncos and I was in the stables. I got up top and I watched ’em go. Go!!! Fuck yeah!!! That one was doing impossible stunts and I nearly said so. But I didn’t. Didn’t I tell you about openin’ yer mouth , boy? You can watch all you want. You can stare. You can have your eyes locked on to the fat lady bending over and never understand why. Is she a naughty nanny?
When we all passed Comp, about 15 guys came to my room (I didn’t wait on the circle – I had to take a mega dump and was in my room) to tell me my grade and to drag me out of bed to go to the House of Babes. This was a place of ill-repute where Leleau had christened one of the dancers “The Troll” – for obvious reasons. I reluctantly (snicker) went along. We had fun blowing off steam after Power School. The House of Babes was a hole in the wall just outside of the Orlando city limits, so they could get away with not using titty tape (which was in full-force at the Fox Hole just outside the base). Seriously, what’s the point of going to a titty bar if you’re just going to be looking at Titty Tape? Anyway, the boys bought me a lap dance and all was right with the world.
Ghosts CD 4 is the best one, btw. Just fucking buy it. It’s straight from Trent, so what are you waiting for? I’ll stop talking about the beat. But you should buy it. I’ll stop. Ready? Now. No? Okay. Try again. Wake up, Maggie, I think I’ve got something to say to you. It’s late September and I really should be back at school, nevermind the cold black truth that stains the kitchen tile.
Cassie likes it in her hand, Cassie’s dead inside
I came to fuck the open wound, so hold it open wide
Cassie loves to swallow, this bleeding will not stop
I left Cassie hollow, cut you with my cock
Take me into the ocean, lay me out on her shore
Wake me when the sun burns out and we’ll run forever more
We’re all gonna die tomorrow, the freaks are screaming burn it down
She can’t feel the weather, I can’t touch the ground