coffeehome ideals

the coffee has begun
this is my coffeehouse today, my home'
you don't understand how difficult it is to write on this laptop
the cursor keeps going back to where it is left off and words jump back to the cursor
it's frustrating but it's almost like using a typewriter in a sense, so I acknowledge the frustration

what is there to talk about in the whole wide world, or the www?
I feel like I am past the point of no return, agewise, but then again there's nothing someone older can't do
I feel like a dinosaur, yet I have wings
sure, some dinosaurs had wings, but this is a new breed
flying and hunting, a timing dinosaur who reacts hunting and breeding through his own time manifestation
a dinosaur that is natural, these dinosaurs have survived

my body is hairy and I can see my ribs
and most likely the coffee is all i will eat and drink today
there's not  much food in the house, except canned beans, spinach and KD
i'm not complaining
and they want to know my password
awww shucks

looking at magnets on the fridge make me wonder
like, I never knew Ohio was the buckeye state, i don't even know what that means exactly
and/or care, but I do care, so I will Google, not now but later
shapeshifting is real, perception is what we determine ourselves what we want to see through our ideals and our past, the gaze of the good and bad

I'm sure there's a documentary out there somewhere that explains whats going on?
can there be and it must be science. sure, I have faith but it's my own and I do not speak to the public about it

now when a writer writes, what do you see in the word. abstract, thought, questions. the truth.man is always aching for the truth since the printing press, like the Marquis, who wrote his final works in feces and blood.
I'll be dead by 35. just haven't decided how yet. a bus. a train. too much Viagra. don't get scared for I am 8 years away and have much work to do before that ever occurs.
Bowie had his 5 years and I have mine. In a dream, are we dreaming? Is consciousness a dream?

more questions. white pills and red pills and blue pills and oranges. these are a few of my favourite things. I'm just kidding. sweet tarts are awesome and I ate all the rosebuds. yum.

I'm gonna end up somewhere across the border, yelling for more lemon meringue pie and a lighter to spark my cigar. and now the coffee's kicked in. what do you expect really? that I can put a sentence together right? like come on, just because I am me, doesn't mean we can't philosophize.

I'm aching to work on one other book, but I just can't find the inspiration and I will continue to try and break social conventions. I must break the narrative. crush it and turn it into art. art attack.
I feel as if I woke up in the wrong generation, I should be in the 50s or 60s in Greenwich Village. Howl and love sick and especially naked lunch. I know, right. When you could drink and smoke anywhere. But no, instead I quit smoking and drinking, cause it's no fun hunchbacking over a bar by yourself or smoking in the freezing cold 15 minutes away from the patio.

Do these politicians actually know what the masses want? and we sit back without protest and just allow this to happen. Bar owners must fight for their patio and the rules to make the consumer as comfortable as possible. I just have questions. And we just accept it.

So I stand on the ever-glorious teevee watching CHCH and I wonder, does anyone know where the Hamilton Spectator is?


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