cheers,
John


City LightsCity LightsCity Lights
The rusty smoke from crumbling stacks,
the cacophony of horns, the reeking dumpster behind a seedy bookstore. The buildings looming overhead, bending to block out the last rays of natural light.
The all-night eateries and dingy cafés (Can I get a clean glass please?),
shuffling steps, and slurred words over
stale coffee at 3 A.M. on a Tuesday. The booth on the end, with its one flickering heat lamp.
Long sighs, circles under eyes, hands running over stress soaked brows, and the pile of jaundiced cigarettes dumped last w


Drought of AddictionDrought of AddictionDrought of Addiction
Its depression lands me on my knees sliding towards the edge of an immense cliff. A precipice whose ledge I can feel pass under my knees and across the tops of my toes. I plummet. Through the whir of desert drought, catching glimpses of an arm's blackberry infection. Vision spinning as my fingers lick the plunger of a needle from heaven.


Miracle of the Machine AgeMiracle of the Machine AgeMiracle of the Machine Age
It was the first thing I saw, all yellow and blue, sticking out among the wreckage and painted with optimism and expressionless eyes. Will the people be brave? Will the world be new? I ask and wait for his knee-jerk reaction, a nod with fiercely false enthusiasm. Liar, I mutter, at his plasticine sneer, this Wasteland has has broken us, and stolen our years.
But I can't be too pissed. This Vault-Tec Boy- a pre-war toy, will fetch me a bundle in caps. New boots, more ammo, a scop


Another Jazz StandardAnother Jazz StandardAnother Jazz Standard
I drove past the music shop yesterday to see what basses they had. Used light blue Jazz, right on the rack. Awesome. I checked it out. I plugged it up. Yes, it is a real Fender. Airbrush line art on the lower body,
white pick guard. Straight neck, but the paint is worn and not like Jaco's. I got lucky-
Lowered it down from the $225.00 on the price tag.
175 even. The look on my face was his payment
in full.
Throw on some new strings and tune it up, I'll see you Saturday.


Upon MilanUpon Milan nocturnal mist descends, pervading eastern streets. And here, how often had we kissed, now in my mind our song repeats; The air has not such clarity though amplified by nicotine; The cityscape: a parody of what, by day, this place had been. Fleeting beyond the foreign forms the moment passes us, unsure. Within your arms the evening warms as we become what we once were. Remembering those times we ran, across cement, upon Milan.Upon Milan
--
I'm tickling you
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In the kingdom of madness, a sane man, or one of his alternate personalities, bays at the moon.
Senior U.E.O. for the *Dark-Arts-Asylum
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OMgawd
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Jannah Amin © JazMin ♥
{Now with 50% more Jellybeans!
Please show your support for Gaza
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Visit my humble website: [link]
"Do it or don't do it; either way you'll regret it." -Kierkegaard
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"imitation is suicide" ~Emerson
do you read the news? do you breathe in the lies?
[link]
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---Surrealism without purpose is like fish...
Peace
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"Imitation is Suicide" -Emerson
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