Orange Victoria.

Before friday- ate some thorn pizza, smoke, watched some Doc Who.
Friday- battled with an unconscious ghost, hosted a party for most of my guests, one person came.
Yesterday- walked to the store, stepped in hot tar, got blisters under my fingernails.
Last night- soaked my blisters in psilocybin, saw Jim Morrison.
The morning after- woke up at 7, played on the guitar, had a smoke, had another smoke, watched the X-files.
Today’s evening- Stood in the same place for a while, I’m still here somehow, smoke, dishwasher, Lost my real leg in a fire.
Tomorrow- wrote all about it.
.
.
Well I guess I’m doing fine.






Garrett Johnson.

Glacial Coffee.

No Home.
Hung over Sideways.
Adventure.
All created mutants.
All pipe thoughts.
Blasted into the universe.
All to be alone.
Like the golden record.
Trying to prove drastic reasons for being alive.
Inside.
The being of life.
All by finding out why by reading today’s newspaper, and sipping a cup of glacial coffee.
Meanwhile I’m also in a car going 70.
On the highway to A certain shop in the middle of a forest in Seattle.
Hold on.
I’ve gotten off track.
I’ll be right back.






Garrett JOhnson.

Poseidon.

Yesterday- Blow out, kicked around, drink of water.
Day before yesterday- Hash browns, peyote, get your own tots monday.
Today- Ambien, gold fish, ******* off of Elvis Presley plate dish, it was jeweled.
Tomorrow- A Cobain chill out, hang out, take a walk, Smoke Kerouac plasma.
Day after tomorrow- Live a little, Make love in a field, because why not.
The day after that day that was tomorrow- a smoke, Chai tea, mellow out, Then lots of lsd but not too much.
Forever- write, write about this, write about that, and write some more.
Repeat.
Don’t repeat.
Yeah sure...go ahead and repeat.






Garrett JOhnson.

Tracing your own crime scene...p.s you did it.

It’s pretty clear to turn tail and run.
When you’re on top of the world like Al Jolson.
And then crash like Syd Barrett.
Yelling at the clone on the wall.
“******* SWINE...HOW COULD YOU!?”.
IDiot.
The tub water has drowned the floor.
You’re long gone with golden hair.
Taking all the acid tabs, mescaline, ether, bloodleaf letters, and the small bottle of goldbond lotion.
“How dare you” I ask.
Coursing with enraged grief.
I feel it; the intense measure if deterioration.
Taking its time skipping along side the sounds of Octopus by the man himself.
All while you melt into the typewriter’s ink.
Unable to walk as you would fall into the infinite muck.
“How do you leave” you ask.
“HANG IN THERE!” I yell.
Why I am I yelling.
I didn’t think this was a side effect.
I can hear just fine.
“****! Who turned off the lights!?”.
“Buddy! You gotta leave now” someone behind me gracefully said.
“What do mean, I just got here!”.
“Feller, you’ve been here for about five hours now, and I think it’s best if you went home”.
MY GOD!.
How long was I in that terribly fascinating state.
What had gone on was to be decided by for the entire variety of the heavy drugs that were seducing the situation.
Why didn’t they kick me out in the first ten minutes I was there.
There must of been a slow start...Then sped up near the end.
But how the hell would I know.
I was told I had been there for five hours and counting.
When I thought I had just sat down from taking a ****.
“Jerry, How are you?”. I asked.
.
.
.
“That’s for you to decide, man”



Garrett Johnson.

Layamon.

Monday morning- A SMoke. Walk. An d music.
Tuesday morning- Love. acid. Walk. music.
Wednesday morning- Watch Taxi driver. Watch Inherent vice. SMoke.
Thursday morning- Grateful Dead. flowers. Flowing. Melting mountains.
Friday morning- Ether. Die. Die. Die. Dead.
Saturday morning- Reanimate. Smoke. Write.
Sunday morning- write. Write. Write about writing. Write.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.




Garrett JOhnson.

Bowl of cereal recipes.

Frankly disturbing.
Teal corner ****** for peace.
Lady has the almond lock.
Swinging with Seattle blobs.

Blue breeze water vitamins.
Sings the scarecrow respite.
The proctor's and doctors went sailing.
Peeling off in ghost tar.
Kissed her acid lips.

Rain down in Creek of flower sauce.
Effecting moon riffs.
Nicely cooked accustic stocks.
Lay out on pool table.
Hug.

Shinny light bulb eye.
Caressing stretching zero water line.
Rubber backwoods chair.
Staging a string serpent drug haze.
And all staggered over paper crime.

Garrett Johnson.

No directions.

Travel down this here icy river.
Sleep in the car.
Catch a cold.
Burn parallel sticks of cancer.
Back against cold bark.
Lack of confidence.
Black sweater.
She forgot to progress.
Her story was nice.
Dark pine.
It’s getting dark outside.
It’s too good inside.
Buried fire letters.
They were never sent.
I’ll get out of here soon.
Washington county.
Pyro slugs.
All caught up in tear sleeves.
I’ll help your helping hand.
No help here.
The world made cones are my saviors.
Your neon wounds have been saved.
Helping paper cup.
Your friendly neighborhood razor cuts.
Hands grasping forest side.
I’ll forever.
Be by your side.


Garrett Johnson.