You Got That Live Slaughter On Tape ...
Mirror and I joked about Fresno earlier. In the movie that's playing in the background a detective jokes about a rapist/strangler (Lou Dobbs, perhaps?) hiding out in Fresno. Been to Fresno once. Saw Guttermouth and the Offspring. Went to a taco truck that served brain tacos. Beyond gross. Everyone knows: Don't eat the brains.
For weeks I've had one lyric running through my head. Infinite loop. It's from Black Flag's "The Bars." "I want out right now." Seems like a good game plan. Seems like a way to keep my sanity in a place full of stuff gone haywire. I want out right now. Oh yeah, baby. Slam the door and don't look back. You know those faces are watching from the windows. Expectant faces. Hopeful faces. Faces that don't mask a soul because there's no soul to mask. You give them the finger, but you don't look back. You won't let yourself be a pillar of salt.
Mind is starting to wander. Can't even concentrate on this. Can't decide if that's bad or good. Back is on fire. Gotta get up early to write and take in the soccer game. Maybe grab a bite. Bury the bodies before the dogs eat them.
Yawns are getting deeper. Eyelids still fighting gravity. Tongue feels like it's made of dryer lint. Limbs are fairly compliant. I won't sleep in my bed tonight. It'll kill my back, but I can't bring myself to move. By the time I wake up the computer battery will be dead, and my head will be throbbing, as it has been every morning this week.