Delving into past memories like a hand deep in the biscuit tin

“I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre


Never really been one for seeing a therapist, this bleeding of ink being my preferred method.
However embellished or not they may be, remembering. Never let the truth get in the way of a good yarn.
When ones muse, is the literal picking at scars. Well its relatable and understandable how the truth can sometimes gets blurred.


Smoking, that guiding light to the final coffin nail. That said there is something soothing to drawing back a smoke ring through both nostrils. The Smell of those terpenes, absolutely thrilling watching an untamed mistress dance a second or two.
By the end of writing this, the ashtray may very well be overflowing


Its bad to be alone.
An ex once said to me that we don't get to choose our gifts.
Well this man, a product of European hybridization. Comes from a lineage of farmers.
There is nothing more fulfilling than growing your own, fruits, vegetables, flowers or medicinal plants.
Last we spoke, she was raising a family on a farm somewhere in  rural Australia...
We sure did fuck the pain away.


Looking at the bottle and a half of whiskey on the window, stark reminders of life's riddle
When you can quit you don't want to and when you want to quit you cant.
Just between the ice and coke, needles and pills, not to mention the pharmaceutical companies share of mind altering substances. Far too many vices.
A good friend and mentor knowing full well he would never quit, told me, once the vein in each arm collapses, i will find another way.
Those of us who serenade with muses know, you have got to pay to play.
So as far as the vice department goes, best pick one or two, leave it at that.