picasso was never called an asshole

picassowhen youre young you never worry about your health, your retirement fund, or obama spying on your skype chats

but when you get older that kink in your back lingers, your hands have to be treated with kid gloves

and you have to watch out getting out of the couch too quickly or you’ll throw something out.

it’s no way to live and makes you feel like youre gonna die.

heres the things i wanna do and know before i publish my last post:

did i really live. did i really love.

did all the unique stories that i could tell get told.

will the good Lord be happy that i walked and talked and rocked around this beautiful crust.

or was all of this a terrible waste.

picasso worked and worked and everything in his workshop was beautiful AND looked like picassos.

there was a time when the things i wrote looked like ee or bukowski or william carlos williams

and then the motors started humming and not only was it all about the busblog but ppl started imitating



but was i saying anything? was i telling the good news of the Lord? was i shining a light on LA in a different way than everyone else who has come here and lived?

before i croak theres a lot more secret stories that i feel uncomfortable telling even on this blog that i want to tell because they were important to me.

i always thought id start at 50 years old because thats when bukowski did it but sadly working for the xbi has made it so rough on my body i have no idea if i’ll make it to 50.

so i need to start writing those things down sooner than later or else who else will write them?

those are the things i worry about on a monday morning when the hot water heater is busted and i look forward to a cold shower on a summer day in 2015.

glad im alive and fixing to be super aware of errything.