A Neon Paris.

Here they come.
Here they are.
Again.
Those thoughts.
Worming themselves into the forefront.
Nesseling in the cold.
Black.
Corners of my brain.
Why won’t it stop.
Why can’t they learn to stop.
Like stranded in a sand sea.
They search.
Search.
Search.
And keep searching.
For what.
Some one.
Some place.
SOme taste, or color.
Some feeling.
Lost.
Some thing.
Anything.




Garrett Johnson.

Leviathan's storm.

It has come.
The apocalyptic overload.
Sworn down from the realms above.
Like the parting of the red sea backwards.
Comment allez-vous I ask.


Garrett Johnson.

Leather acid tests.

Wednesday- I'm back, went to San Fran, did some jenkem, I don't recommend, And I didn't make it.
7/4/19- Sat from a far, Watched the fire works alone while talking to my imaginary friend.
Friday- Woke up form an ether stupor, masculine, shot up some of grandma's finest neon soup.
7/7/19 around 5:00 pm- went to the community festival, had a cookie, blasted off into the outer reaches of space with a girl, and a guy.
A few hours later- met my clone.
The day after- Went to Idaho with the girl, made love in a barn, old fashioned rebel style.
7/15/19- Drove back to San Fran in my doctor's space can, Write, write, wrote, write some more.
.
,
.
Very sure we died here.



Garrett Johnson

A Kerouac Afternoon.

Penniless on a traded lie for a life.
Finally found in a hazel eye.
Walking around in the finest sky of nowhere.
An afternoon of series after series.
After serious reasons of grief.
Get a grip, man.
Out and displaced.
Creek.
Lying in mud.
More comfort when the blood settles at the bottom.
Old and torn.
Beat up some wolves.
Crawled while crying to my hole in the river.
One with the fishes.
And other earthly fuel.



Garrett Johnson.

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.