Our words were short as time is but a moment ever fleeting upon this plain of existence.
My memories of you are as cloudy as a puddle's gray sky's reflection of something I rather forget.
But my friend you once told me.
"Our disease does not hide, we simply choose to ignore it until it's far too late."
I didn't want to face the solution, as I spoke to you beyond ****** up.
Lost in a storm of ego and ignorance that I could control a ******* tornado by pretending I was ultimately in control.
"You know you can always call me John, just make sure it's when you are ready to admit it's beyond your control."
My old friend said to me and as I said my goodbyes I played it off.
Mocking his spiel and doing what I do best.
Play the role others believe to be the fractured individual that is someone over time I truly do not understand myself.
I could always called you and like anyone not wanting to face the cancer that is their truth I never did.
And on the day an old friend told me of your passing I was numb fighting withdrawals, my heart pounding like a wounded animal yearning for escape.
I thought of you, a man who had battled a stroke, cancer and the same addiction as I.
It was never that I didn't call because I did not respect you.
It is the exact opposite my friend.
I admired you as many will speak of your words.
But as we are eternally brothers of the page.
It is the compassion you showed me as a friend knowing me no more than a stranger from a website.
You eternally are that bear, as that animal often stands alone in its strength and understanding.
That pillar has been removed only from sight never from heart or the dungeons of a darkened soul such as mine.
Rest well my friend.
Sincerely from the pains of my eternal regrets.
In memory of a great friend.
I do not explain art, I merely create it.
I awoke naked in the cemetery; the devil was nowhere in sight.
Scotty laughed his *** off. William simply shook his head.
Bob was nowhere to be found.
As I walked around, void of shame fueled by alcohol on the verge of stopping my heart.
I collected my clothes and realized I had busted my *** in my blacked-out adventures and **** ripped off my right ear.
I had forever scrambled my eggs, and deep fried my soul washed away my worries with an ever-approaching sun.
Cried fool’s Gold confessions and realized if I ever yearned to be home.
Amongst the tombstones and ever-past friends epitaphs.
I truly was already here.
I don't cry because they're gone.
I only cry because I have remained.
God never seems to answer the ******* phone!
Larry Cook was a crabby old ******* almost as bad as the ******* he caught and sold off the waters on Knotts Island North Carolina.
Every other morning during the season he was up at the **** crack of dawn and on the water either pulling or baiting pots.
He worked hard, he drank even harder.
He was back at the marina went and sold his ***** paid his crew and hit the bar like clockwork.
If he made it home was never the question, now if he it made into the home most nights was.
He lived in a nice old house his neighbors thought he was a freak.
And he thought they were all a bunch of stuck up yuppie *******.
He passed out on the lawn.
But he didn't give a **** for it was his lawn to pass out on.
He sat there on his tail gate one morning after a good ******.
His next door neighbor just glared.
He cracked a beer and just laughed.
The neighbors seven year old kid walked up to him.
Larry Cook hated kids.
And they always seemed to be drawn to him for some ****** up reason .
Like a **** house cat.
Course Larry never hated ***** although that never quite seemed drawn to him like ******* kids.
The kid just stood there staring.
Larry just kept drinking his beer.
“My dad says you're a nasty old drunk.”
Larry just looked at the kid and almost laughed.
“Yeah that really hurts cause I thought me and him were always friends.”
“Really that's weird because he hates you Mr Cook.”
Larry cracked another beer.
“So what the hell you doing over here shrimp.”
“Really seems like you're also a bit ******* as well.”
“You shouldn't use that word Mr Cook its offensive.”
Larry saw the kid’s mother step out on the front porch.
She had a look on her face as if her little bed wetter was speaking to the Devil himself.
“Well Frodo I believe you're mother wants you.”
“She thinks you're crazy.”
“Most women do.”
“She said that's why you're wife ran off and left you and cause you're a drunk.”
“Bobby stop bothering Mr Cook.”
Bobby's mother called out.
“Looks like the warden's calling kid.”
“Well Mr Cook I guess I better go.”
“Yeah **** for brains come back and visit when you can’t stay as long.”
“Mr Cook I don't think you're so bad aside from sleeping on the front yard and hating everyone.”
“Yeah thanks and tell your mother even though she’s a uptight *****, I still think she has a great *** and thanks for not drawing the blinds last night.”
The kid just looked at Larry oddly and shrugged his shoulders.
“Okay well talk to you later.”
Larry learned a lot of things from his conversation with the kid that day.
He only passed out in his back yard from there on out.
From my book .
Smoking At The Gas Pumps .
As I have moved to publication and fulltime editing I still always remember where I really first began pushing my scribbling out there .
This page has been all I had when the nights seemed eternal and the storms seemed many.
It bled my truths .
It brought me those I loved, and helped push them away as well.
I have rode the winds and crashed into the rocks .
Embraced self destruction captured every lie and bared far to many truths .
I guess this is all that's left .
So I will end it , where it began .
Now this page holds my last truth.
She said .
"It's me or the bottle *******"!
I admired the view of the door as it smacked her on the *** .
She hit the road and me I simply hit the bar .
Played some songs on the jukebox and didn't say a word to the folks around me .
Drank till I passed out and realized the **** storm I was in the very next morning .
She was gone and I was left here alone.
Without wheels and only a lone beer in the fridge .
Well no one ever claimed I was smart .
I wonder if she could turn round somewhere in Kentucky .
Pick me up a bottle then bring that pretty little *** back meet with a smile at the door.
Run into these open arms .
Embrace those lips and face those tears .
Then sit her down hand her the money and take my bottle and
tell her thanks before I slam the door in her face .
Whiskey heals all wounds .
And as for you my dear have a safe trip .
I am not around much I been busy recently having a book published by Alien Buddha Press .
Once is now available on amazon
A Cold Beer Beats A Warm Heart
Pick up a copy today its sure to give you a distant buzz .
I had become what most yearn for.
Anyone can want what they truly do not understand .
You never know you like something until you finally get a taste for what it truly is .
My plate is full these days .
Every line has a direction and it becomes more mechanical by the second.
People laugh at me less .
Some envy .
Fools often hate what they themselves could never do.
They think what I forged in fire somehow was handed from the Heavens.
The tattered edges now refined .
It took a toxic environment and a lust for its release.
I didn't cheat my self indulgence .
But I **** sure scammed myself about happiness.
I worked for this plain and simple.
I stayed around till I had proven a fluke is one thing I wasn't.
If your waiting for a encore .
You have to let me finish first .
She always loved the ocean .
And often she drug him along although he hated the the sand .
Frank was never much of a beach person but it was beautiful with her always .
"Why won't you marry me "?
She asked as they sat together upon the shore.
"Come on Beth didn't you get enough ******* form your last marriage "?
"He was a ******* but your the one I was supposed to marry I made a mistake ".
"So now your looking to make another "
Frank replied laughing .
Beth was not amused .
She was always in love with him and Frank knew full well he was not with her .
She was fun in small doses .
She was great in bed but eventually you had to be able to communicate .
Beth was the sort that never stopped talking and seldom had a **** thing to truly say.
Susan always plagued his thoughts .
Because she although a ***** was the one he could not forget.
There was something in the silence they shared .
She was gone and so was it .
And now he simply drank to forget and wrote **** to fill the space and grab publication.
"You know I love you so what's the deal dude"?
" Look sweetheart it's never going to happen so maybe its best we not continue to do this anymore ".
And with that it was over .
Beth cursed him out and stomped off .
He watched her as she vanished over the dunes and faded from his life .
She would be far from the last to say goodbye .
He grabbed the last beer from the sixpack.
Listened to the waves crash into the shore .
It was empty peaceful and perfect in everyway.
Then Frank thought to himself .
He hadn't taken his car .
And he had left his phone on the dash of Beth's.
As he walked over the dunes he viewed the parking lot and as he figured Beth was nowhere to be found .
He viewed the little shops all were closed except for a little bar called the Riptide .
He laughed to himself .
For he may be stranded but least he was far from alone .
Any port in a storm beats standing outside in the rain .
The place was packed but it served cocktails .
Least he wouldn't die from lack of thirst .
And maybe a beachcombers existence would suit him for awhile .
Beth would find another much like Frank would always land on his often unbalanced and drunken feet .
He had a lot of practice .
The night had only just begun.
I am not around here much anymore but being a full time editor a well as published writer keeps me busy .
But still I will always be around .
Stay crazy .