Everything is there when you're living in the city
Everything is there in a war
Everything is there in love
Everything is there on stage

Labels: Naval gazing, Octopus's Garden, The Nature

Posted by Ahenobarbus at 6:52 AM | Permalink | Comments

Labels: Jessica Biel, Monica Bellucci, Octopus's Garden

Posted by Ahenobarbus at 2:44 AM | Permalink | Comments

Text from "Women," by Charles Bukowski.
Arranged in cut up fashion à la William S. Burroughs.

Labels: Charles Bukowski, Octopus's Garden, William S. Burroughs

Posted by Ahenobarbus at 12:35 PM | Permalink | Comments

Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
What is a man, anyhow? What am I? What are you?
All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own;
Else it were time lost listening to me.	385
I do not snivel that snivel the world over,
That months are vacuums, and the ground but wallow and filth;
That life is a suck and a sell, and nothing remains at the end but threadbare crape, and tears.

Labels: Art, ass, Octopus's Garden

Posted by Ahenobarbus at 4:41 PM | Permalink | Comments

Augie March - One Crowded Hour

Update: Ride that pony again.

Quick, write it all down before forget. Go out on the back steps again if you must. I got about 4 hours sleep last night. Better than most. I went to work at the usual time. Left out the door at 5:15 am. Got off work, again, at the usual time, 2:45pm. Drove from Rochester to Ft Drum, and then back home. I pushed through all that time to be here. I put the kids to bed and fell asleep on the couch. And woke up to my estranged wife kissing me like she hadn’t in years—if not months.

But she was just fucking with me I think. As soon as we started getting into it she got that smile on her face and got up. That was it. Now it’s been hours and I still can’t sleep. But it’s nice on the back step. After the record breaking heat of the day it’s a paradise with a gentile breeze out here on the back step. The street lights show the trees in an underwater way. It’s beautiful, really.

But not as beautiful as seeing her sprawled out on the couch. She looks thinner and sexier than she has in 5 years. But it still feels like there is nothing there or that everything is still there hanging over us. One or the other. But it’s all here on the back steps. Air conditioner roaring like a freight train, insects straining to be heard above. The breeze asking if we still trip like they do. Underwater scenery along the back fence. The dried and withered garden almost looks alive in this light.

The air sure smells better than Rochester.

Labels: Blondes, Octopus's Garden

Posted by Ahenobarbus at 4:08 PM | Permalink | Comments