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weinburglar Sep 2016
I can write like Don DeLillo in Americana.

I'll show you your personal Patrick Bateman. How childish Palahniuk is. I'll show you advertising matters. Brands. My brands. Shinola. Dire Straights. Colour TVs. Refrigerators. Blisters on your thumb.

I'll show you my shoes, this shirt. These pants. My hair.

Fist over knife. Forks over food. Jerking off into a wishing well with next month's bonus.

I'll show you when enough is enough. I'll show you what it means to be hungry. Thirst. Blood. Sweat.

I'll give you an idea and take it out of reach.

I'll find your consumer segment. I'll find your scalpel too. I'll show you who you should really be.
weinburglar Aug 2016
The happiest feeling in the world would be to grow old with my wife and my brother, my sister and friends, my mom and dad and uncles and aunts, grandpa and grandma and Bradbury and Ali and Mark McGuire and Prefontaine. Bukowski and the family dog and the sun and the blood moon and the solar eclipse of 2002. The last one for 40,000 years.
weinburglar Jul 2016
Fireworks were cool. Framed metal chairs with woven nylon Americana on watered lawns on the outskirts of the edge of Los Angeles. Hairy neighbors, Miller Drafts and dog ****. Sally ****** Jim on the corner, and Jim drank, or started again and wouldn’t stop, but was good with a flat tire and chain adjustment. His kid had a glove like a vacuum. His daughter was a *****. Sally afforded a Mexican gardener.

Tim always had fireworks. He had gasoline and willed fireworks into his driveway. He had rope and a keg.

Schatzky keep her cool. She had to. She worked the 5th and taught everyone’s kids. She taught their parents too, 10 years ago.

Her son Donavan and her husband Keith lived for the 4th. Little pink houses and Jack and Diane kind of ****. So they watched fireworks on flag hill while their neighbors ****** and got ******* and burnt their eyebrows. Donavan was ecstatic.

Each year the hill was gilded in gold for Donavan and Keith and and Schatzky, because each 4th brought fire and explosives in a way they could never afford.

Keith was more patriotic than most. He waited and enlisted and became a hero. Donavan watched on TV. Schatzky watched too. We won the first gulf war and everyone knew it: https://youtu.be/4gNhs2SRacs?t=1m10...

They celebrated the fourth in baseball stadiums. They celebrated life and heroism and purpose, and they celebrated with F16s and the best explosives the peacetime nation offered.

And Keith celebrated and embraced purpose. He even became a leader in the 2nd gulf war.

Sally stopped ******* Jim. Jim wasn’t married anymore. His kid lowered Tim’s basement and didn’t steal the copper.

Tim’s house was worth a fortune but it had a radon problem.

Schatsky was accused of drowning her dog, but she didn’t do it.

Jim still drinks; he’s smarter now.

They all meet on flag hill every 4th. The fireworks aren’t as good. A lot of build up for a finale that feels like an accident.

Water seeps through my jeans and no one can see my face as I limp home with a broken rubber sandal and a bucket of ice, a dog tied around my legs, and a kid face first on the grass, a wife whose friend drank our last beer an hour ago, a phone with  two-percent battery left and my mom wants to show me what fireworks look like in California.
weinburglar Apr 2016
You reverberate through yourself
While you pull meat from your teeth
And squeeze fruit
On aisle 2
Or braid your daughter's hair
while ******* your neighbor
Or pray in tounges
To cut in line
For a $10 cover charge heaven
I won't get into.
weinburglar Apr 2016
If the alcohol gets me
Before my wife
Or job
Or kids
Then it got me good.
(And it worked.)
weinburglar Apr 2016
The sound of a broken heart
Reverberates mostly
through empty *****.
weinburglar Apr 2016
The first page of a new notebook
And the first sip of
Nascent ink
Deserve so much more
Than a scribbling man
On a stranger's latrine.
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