The Book of Genesis (Let There Be Lighters)

And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.

And the LORD God said unto the man whom he called Adam, "Hey man, how about giving names to all of these animals. I've got some other shit to do, but I'll be back later to see how you're doing."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat. But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die."

And the LORD God returned after many days and found Adam making a burnt offering unto Him. And He said unto Adam, "Hey man. What's up?"

And Adam said unto the LORD God, "Oh hey, Dude. How's it going?  What’s that?  The animals?  Oh right, the naming thing.  Well I got some of them done but not all.  You made a hell of a lot of them, you know?  I kind of got a bit sidetracked.  What happened?  Yeah...you know that tree of knowledge you were talkin' about?  Yeah…no, I didn’t eat any…no, not that…you said not to so no way, right?   Heh heh…no Dude there’s this weed growin’ all around it and I picked some right and I dried it in the sun with some nuts and berries n’ shit.  Oh yeah…trail mix Dude…it’s really awesome.  Oh!  Hold on a sec…gotta turn my barbecue or it’s gonna burn.  Okay, so I dried this stuff to make incense, you know?  You like that stuff, right?  Anyway, it smelled…like sooo funky Dude.  And, okay, so I picked one of those apples from the tree of knowledge.  No, I did not eat any, I swear.  No, I just dug out the center to make a pipe and put some of that dried weed in and lit it and well…wow…just like wow Dude…that is some awesome shit you got growin’ here Dude.”

And the LORD God said unto Adam, “Yeah, that’s pretty good stuff, huh?  I made it special for my day off.   I call it Seventh Day Heaven.  But listen man, I see you’ve named the cattle and the fowl of the air and the beasts of the field, but you have no mate for companionship.  Aren’t you getting lonely out here all by yourself?”

And Adam said unto the LORD God, “Huh?  Lonely?  Nah…not me Dude.  I got my dog.  Here, boy!  That’s a good boy!  Want me to rub your belly?  Yeah...that feels good doesn't it?"  

"Oh, sorry Dude.  A woman?  Hmmm.  You know Dude that sounds like a great idea…but, I just know she’s gonna want to talk all the time and I’ll have to listen to all her shit.  And she’s gonna want me to do this and she’s gonna want me to do that.  And she’s gonna want to know where I’m going and what I’m doing all the time.   Nah, why ruin paradise?  How ‘bout I keep the rib and just fuck the goats instead?" 

"Hey c’mon have a seat Dude and let’s eat this pig.  They are delicious, by the way.  If you hadn’t intended for them to be eaten, you wouldn’t have made ‘em so tasty, right?  Maybe after supper we could spark up another bowl of Number Seven and go watch the monkeys.  Those little bastards are hilarious.”

And it was good.

Maybe this last cigarette, in front of this humming compressor here at work, under the flood light from the factory roof, bugs attempting suicide in its brightness, the wet blanket heat clinging to my neck, the warning signal on my phone to alert me its about to go dead even though i just sent a message to my girlfriend riddled with paranoia, the sudden memory my brother just went to gaol for buying drugs from some redneck neo nazi on the southside, the realisation i spent my last paycheck gambling, trying desperately to scrape enough together to pay my rent, the hammering inside my chest that feels like miners digging for gold in my heart, the sound of my own breath and the calm i get from hearing that I'm still alive, the very fact that all this can be extinguished with a simple thought of something good, like a kiss, or shot of good scotch,...maybe this is my perfect world. It might be the lesser of several evils.

Or in any world but mine...

In perfect world...

When she told me that she had broken up with the man she loved,
My first reaction should have been sympathy
And not an erection.

The only thing, really.

The one thing
I really want
Is to be able
To tell someone
"I love you"

And mean it.

Damn you, ROBOT HITLER!!!

Perfect is a wierd concept to me. I mean, have you ever seen 'The Twilight Zone'? Man gets his very own perfect world. Man discovers everything going great is monotonus and boring. Man loses mind. So on that note, my perfect world would be on with shit happening left and right. Turn a corner? Gunfight between cops and the F.B.I. Go to the store for cigarettes? Bomb threat that I have to deal with. Excitement is a key to life and I thrive on it. Of course, I have low latent inhibition, so I need constant input because reality itself is like a drug to me. And as with other drugs, I like to use to excess.

On the flip side... You know? There really is no flip side. I value horrifying experiences the same as good times with friends. It may seem weird to you, but any visceral, raw experience is good. Bombing in a standup gig in Harlem because of a bad nigger joke, well thats the same as performing at C.B.G.B.'s opening for the Ramones in the seventies for me. I may have a broken brain, but fuck if I don't enjoy it like a retard shitting his pants.

One Perfect Kiss

It was the most perfect kiss I've ever experienced.

I can barely find the words to describe it.

Her lips.

Her skin was so soft and white and beautiful.

Her lips were luscious and tender and moist.

She was beautiful.

In that moment, she was the most beautiful, most amazing, most spectacular, most perfect woman. Ever.



Every time I try to remember, it brings me such joy.

Such peace.

God. I love her.

The memory of her.

That kiss.

The way her lips gently caressed my lips.

How her tongue pressed softly against mine.

Such joy.

Such peace.

Such happiness.

Such sorrow to think that it won't ever happen again.



The touch of pale, soft skin under my fingertips, to set my nerves aflame.

To caress her cheek once more would be enough to be the cure of this terrible ache.

The passion. The fire.

Her fire.



Why do I love so much the memory and despise so much the remembrance of it?


Parting is not sweet, but sorrow.
If someone's hope, I could but borrow.

For hope has all but left me dead.
And devils feast on what angels dread.

Fuck, I depressed me.

Beating a dead horse, I'd prefer to call my experience flogging an expired equine. I'm a fag like that. It only happens when I'm around her, and I cannot get away. This is why I'm on my fourth scotch with no end in sight. We were never really a couple, but we were together toward the end of my adolescence. I know I loved her, but my aversion to physical contact instilled by a religious toltolitarian of a mother drove us apart. It was my fault, and I took the responsibility, but now I'm going to beat a dead horse and call her. She lives two blocks away and we're still friends. We will never be together again, even now as I've sorted out my personal issues, I know this. Yet I still swing the stick into the horses' ribs over and over and over. Torture, it literally eats at me like necrotizing fasciitis of the 'heart'. Fuck, the horse is just mush now. But I'm still going to beat it.