Dear Idiot Boy,

I remember things about you that you don’t. Forgotten allies. Dreams outside pictures. Photographs within the walls.

Others remember things as well, as if in a dream of unknown things you never remember but can’t forget.

The most important thing to remember is to never leave things as you left them, or so they say.

Tell it on a tale of distress

Your thoughts wake up to kindness unfound

News before you running wild

Taste the sweetness crossed over and bound

I miss you whenever the moon shines. And on nights I sing, raw desire and sin and sweetness, and you always said to me, “you’ve never been so plain.”

Scattered and listless

Break down the rhymes

Believe in yourself for once

Forgetful needs no mind

I found this list of 70s “best of” funk albums and almost bought them all for you.

Talk dirty to me gently

Feel me down your throat

Waste no more thoughts on me

Spend your rage until I’m broke

Remember when I blew you off in SF? Sorry.

Remember when you blew me off in D.C.? You didn’t, though, did you. You just couldn’t catch me. Sorry again. #scarychris

And then I didn’t call you back…. because… ? And I’m extra sorry about that.

I never called you a tool but ONCE, and that was just to piss you off.

Deeper at every turn

You find a hollow aspect

To design your life into places

Where nothing but patterns burn

You fired it off, Dude. And like three people caught it. And you liked it that way. Until you didn’t. And you got all fucked up in your head about that. I get that. I’m the same. You can only be true to existence until your Truth stops bleeding, until you’re done slaying the field, until the answers run out of questions, until you simply choose to be done.

And peanut butter. Because we’re part dog.

I finally got the best espresso machine ever. Ha!

I haven’t been camping either. 🙁

There’s no sweetness anymore. I’m bound and determined to remedy that. With sound and darkness and my twisted soulful words that only you would get, but then again I think I’m writing to you in the divine patterns in my mind. Can you hear the songs yet?

Kept you underneath the frame

To bleed you dry and full of shame

I know not where your rapture goes

When faces haunt you down below

Z and I will be moving on soon. To a town where it’s dark enough to see the light. You’d like that.

Your life of experiences? They’re still screaming mercy, and you’ll never be forgotten.


Your favorite killing machine – Idiot Girl