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Another Prose
I always think of the same songs
they distract, seem to come from someone else
It's cold tonight I am of course alone
my service animal is here sleeping though
This body hurts more and more as years go by
I have become grouchy and negative
I fear what my art and words might do to me through others
interpeted like I am a stupid monster
Don't feel like I can be really loved by anyone anymore
it's not because I am too old
I have to change myself but I can't see what to change
it's something inside me that everyone can see
I fear I have become insane
maybe magic is real
It's so quiet tonight just typing and the hiss of the small propane heater
in a plywood shack on a mountainside burned-out forest in the snowy winter icy cold
not insulated a worker's room and board got electric lights that are off and run on gas
2 days ago lived in a cannabis community center God knows what it is now
made some money today and yesterday though
was reminded that not all people are fake immature lying fucks
living in gratitude but struggling with the coping of the being so alone
a single boat out to sea in a forgotten storm
that's where I am
paintings with one boat in them are considered absolute shit to some collectors
Think about the same people for 25 years now
how it used to be not so different
except for one important thing
I was absolutely not alone
and to think just the thought of them is enough to keep me alive now
some of them feel the same way I know it's true
I think of death a lot and wonder if it is going to be now or soon
it seems so close sometimes if not for the broken heart then maybe the cold
