FLUID IN THE CRUST

FLUID IN THE CRUST

I wander-crawl through a labyrinth of old stone passages.

Scared with heart pounding, I don’t turn back.

Emerge from an old stone fireplace that smells of dusty age.

This place has phantoms so thick they infuse you.

I’ve been here before, and return again.

Won’t you come along?

It won’t be long,



It’s a castle, a mansion, a cabin.

In a marsh, the woods, the field,

The mountains, the hills, the plains.

It has stood for ages.

It has encompassed all dread.

It has absorbed all fear.

It has distorted and fucked every joy.

Won’t you come along?

It doesn’t care if you do,

But you’re welcome to.



The rooms are bare

They feel full

Air thick with phantoms

So thick you can’t see

Like a dry fog.

The wooden floors are rotted and soft

But the dry moisture only whispers your footfalls.

Each step dreadfilled and heavy.

Each direction a rusted dagger into your brain.

Through a doorway we go again.

Another room, another time, another memory.

I’m feeling fine and relish the pox

The curse that floods over you warms a trembling soul.

Come on along. Won’t you?

It won’t be long.

We won’t be long.

Its never long.

Climb a set of stairs that should hold no weight,

But always does.

No, you can’t run! Just try!

See? Same speed every time,

And always

Dread behind

Dread ahead.

This room housed a corpse.

Dying horribly and decaying slowly.

Its almost gone now

A sinister potpourri.

Ignite that shit like incense and hang out.

There are more rooms and more levels

More passages and more halls.

Great halls!

Where the dead had a feast!

Where servants toiled with yeast!

The special pies were a must.

There’s fluid in the crust.

I’m on a blow-back mission, man.

Got 54 rooms to go.

Don’t be scared.

Come on along.

Even the ghosts are gone.

The phantoms though remain.

Always thick as thieves.

They’ll become dear.

They’ll coat you like sweat.

They’ll drive you mad if you let them.

Wander with them and suck in the pain.

Stabs your brain, dares to make you insane.

So come on in sane.

Won’t you come along?

It won’t be long. I promise an oath.

It’s a journey and adventure

A revelation and consternation.

Come on along!

It won’t be long.

It’ll be forever.

PAST WRITING

Originally titled: One Month Away
Originally written:  Circa 3/1/2012
Just discovered 4/21/2012.
Justtification for dragging it out now:  Looking around my fucking blog site! GEEZE!  Bet I could throw this fucking laptop over that mountain.



Groundhog day has sort of taken a turn. For me it now includes the addition of my regular job coming back into the picture. It was a mildly difficult adjustment. I had to quickly teach myself to completely turn off any type of worry or thoughts of the restaurant so I could use all my mental resources where they belong at the time. I have that balanced out pretty good now.

I figure Sis must still feel trapped in the land of Groundhog Day; as the cafe is the ONLY thing she still must focus on day in and day out. Everyone else has an escape.

A funny aspect of this wild ride is how Sis and I tend to slide into our own panic modes when business is slow for a day or two, and how we're ready to unfurl flags and strike up the band when the tide turns toward the better.

The cafe itself is way too small for what we would like to be doing. Dreadfully small. ... Actually... So fucking small that I find myself just short of screaming to be able to implement what I would like in this business. I have a better bead on what we are now truly capable of accomplishing, though I still have my doubts on occasion that we'll keep up this momentum. I find those doubts slowly fading though.

Everyone brings something to the table. What is brought to the table by everyone is almost always for the passion of making the business a success. Literal blood, sweat and tears have been invested. The exhausting work feels good though. Pure. Our attitudes are in the right place in that our goal is to provide for and be a part of the community that sustains our business. It is a pleasure and a priority to serve to the best of our ability.

Now... All of this I mention ...

(I do not know the original text that followed this.)

Come listen to a story 'bout a joint that's dead...

Poor Mountaineers
Won't keep their belly's fed.

But every day
They're lookin' for some gruel,
And over to Mt. Top they run like fools!

Swill, that is.
Black canned shit.
Texas toast.

Well next thing you know
The gang's dyin' over there.
Last sibling cries
Whatchoo doin' over there!

New Jersey remains
The place I oughta be!
One day I'm loadin' up the truck
And fucking this HILLBILLY!

LAND that is!
History!
ADIOS!
Soon to be His Story!
... ... ... why... Certain-LEE!

GREETINGS!!!! YOU CRAZY SUM BITCHES!!!

Hangin' in there.
I like that.
Don't care what I say or what its about.  Just diggin the shit.  S'cool.

I didn't plan on doing a song parody or poem or anything when I sat down here... Just planned on doing some old school writing as it comes to mind and then posting it.  Damned if that loose stool above isn't what came right the fuck out!  HEE!  Yaya!

The followers on here now must surely be few and very far between... That's ok though... because I also know a straggler or two also pop on here from time to time by accident... and thats also cool.

So let's see where this goes shall we?  I've got a nice Guinness Stout and a freshly cracked bottle of Jack... sipped slowly over ice in the most perfect cocktail glass (Thank you Grove's Harley Davidson of Winchester, VA!)... an evening off and a mind full of backed up shit a heavy duty plumber's snake couldn't budge!

First off... Couple shout outs for bad or worse:
1.  Cee-Lo, stick w. the Gnarls days.
2.  Dollar General - I haven't forgotten your shit charcoal.
3.  Big Purple lives!
4.  Fruit O The Loom Womb Flume DOOM!... I ain't never had so many fucking white t-shirts in my life!
5.  Snow - Go fuck youself.
6.  Cats n' females... (see #5) ... sorry.
7.  Ice Cream!  Yeah boyee!!!
8.  Mr. Death... yeah... you see #5 too, m'kay!

Right... enough of that.... I could keep on going.

OH!  There's so fucking much up here! 

I was outside raking earlier... which is a rarity because I AM NEVER FUCKING HOME ANYMORE!!!  (My own choice... my own choice...)  ...and, there was this really cool vision (imaginative I do believe) where something came strolling (always strolling... strolling is so cool... so BOSS) out of the woods and interacted with me.  It was pleasurable, but unfortunately I can't recall what the fuck went on... I'm just mentioning it because it was special.  (Note:  It was not any of the gang who live back there.)

SO!

I got this cafe'.  Got this little ditty of a cafe in Romney, West fucking Virgin-I-AE!
COULD be a gold mine of a place... MAYBE even where its at!  I doubt it, but I think it could.
Ain't happenin' though.
Lets say you're an aspiring painter, and all they give you to work with is:
Berries
Snot
Poo-Poo (from humans and various animals)
Spinach
Cottage Cheese
Now you have to create works of art that people in Romney, West fucking Virgin-I-AE will appreciate.

Not gonna happen.

Not getting it?
Need s'mo' comparisonsesisez?
Ok...

So, like, you're this engineer... but all you have to work with to create Rome's sewer system is:
Rotting badger head.
Burnt stick.
Red herring.

You getting this?

Suppose we build this large wooden badger...

Yo yo!!!  Hold on... I'm sick of even talking about that fucking cafe'... I'm tired. Dog tired. I'm cursed with a hyper-sensitive inquisitiveness that never consciously shuts down... So all I can do is teach myself to ignore observances constantly.  No shit.  Its fucking crazy.  It has perhaps gotten worse over the years.  So when you invest your soul into something (ain't no other way to do it, baby!) and things start looking askew to you, you often have (for the better good) to just look away ("just walk-away").  The stress of that act, however, builds... as stress has a tendency to do... Unless you're a boring moron who dwells in it...  complacency. 
Such a silly place... complacency.  I've personally contemplated it.  ... No, dear reader(s).  Venture not into that fucked up fetid lair!  (Yeah yeah... I used "fetid"... sometimes you just gotta pull it out... overused or not.)

What is coooool about the cafe?  (It sure as fuck ain't the non-existent ventilation!):
Saturday mornings with the boyz and Siruis XM's BPM.
Jam packed tables and a frantic cooking area (snicker).
Turning off the OPEN sign after a Becks and a day of +$$$ (undisclosed amount)!
Courthouse Corner Cafe' After Dark!

So that's about it bru's and sis's...

Bru's...

Got a few of them still...
Don't see my real one (brutha) much anymore...  That's totally fucked up.  Don't  blame him much.  I'd run for the fucking hills too from our bunch.)

So frankly.. The evening didn't give much in the line of entertainment did it?

Here in the Darkgarden... It often doesn't.
It often brings forth shit you'd rather keep in the shadowed corner with the dust bunnies, and the shit that lurks, always lurks, in the dead of night over your thoughts...

For now... Take this and go...  Perhaps more lata'... Perhaps not... (Mayhap it is... Mayhap it ain't!)...T
That's it friend(FOE) (s) ... Take one...

Hike... Long Pier... Tall cliff... Go...

and...

ya know...

say it with me...

PISS OFF!