AMERICA'S SOUL IS BURIED IN THE GRAVEYARD OF EXPIRED ENERGY DRINKS

I unearthed a plastic storage container from my closet with some childhood items in it

One of the items is a book I don't remember reading or buying.

The book has a bunch of short stories written in a southern affect.

It seems extremely shitty.

Hidden in the pages of the book was a knife.

So the book isn't so shitty, I guess.

The knife has a serrated edge.

There is a heaviness in it.

Manufactured in Oregon by a company named Gerber.

A triple x (XXX) stamp is on one side of the blade near the hilt.

The last time I carried this thing I was a teenager.

And homeless.

I stole it from a friend.

I felt really bad when I did that.

The kid's name was Wally.

He was the child of divorced parents.

His father owned a business reconstituting pallets.

His mother had large breasts, red hair and missing teeth.

She rarely left her bedroom.

Both were heroin junkies.

I remember one day I stopped by his mother's house in SE Portland.

Tired from walking on the streets.

Just wanting to sleep.

Wally was there smoking weed like he always was.

I think we were both 15 at the time.

He was really excited about something and wanted to show me what it was.

There was a large leather binder resting near his bong.

He opened it.

Inside were 14 knives.

All different styles and shapes lining both sleeves.

They were shiny all in their own right.

A skinhead friend had stolen them from a job site Wally told me.

I asked if I could have a knife.

"No."

He needed them he said.

The binder was closed.

His mother's weak voice came from behind a bedroom door.

She sounded like she hadn't slept in days.

Wally disappeared for a few minutes.

During this time I opened the binder again.

Out of the many I selected the least desirable.

And placed it in my right pocket with the tip pointing upwards.

The silver tab jeans I wore had accomodating pockets.

They were useful for stealing supermarket food and krylon cans.

Something I did frequently during those times.

I closed the binder just before Wally returned.

He said his mother wasn't feeling well and that I should leave.

I was really worried he would suddenly feel nostalgic and inspect the knives again.

He let me take a lungful of medicated smoke instead of saying goodbye.

I walked outside without a known destination

The rain broke my high.

I fell asleep in a park with my back against a handball court.

The knife clutched in my fist.

I still feel bad for taking the weapon.

But feel grateful for having it now.

I think I'll need to carry it once more.

Maybe soon.

PEEL ME

My only desire in life is to live a good death.

EVERYTHING I SAY SOUNDS SARCASTIC

How are you.

Of course voting matters.

Where did you learn to suck dick.

Don't panic.

I'm afraid to die, too.

LET'S AGREE SCHOOL IS BULLSHIT.

Language was invented for the sole purpose of diluting force.  Goodbyes don't actually exist, orgasms do.

THE SIZE OF THE DOG DICK ISN'T IMPORTANT, THE SIZE OF THE INSECURITY IS.

I will utilize a silkscreen to create a t-shirt with the words "YOUR DICK IS SMALLER THAN MY DOG'S DICK" complimented by a black arrow graphic pointing downward to where my dog would be walking.  I will walk my dog in affluent neighborhoods while wearing the shirt.  Your children will know my name.

JELLYFISH QUEEF CONCERTO

I have a reoccurring fantasy where I say "must see t.v." to a random person's face, then fire an uzi in the direction of their dumb smile.