at first it was patti smith. now its keith richards who i want to die. he’s fucking everywhere like she was everywhere, without ever really putting anything out there for years. everywhere i turn, there he is. he’s in movies, in bookstores, interviewed by this dipshit and that dipshit, on tv shows, in magazines with his ugly decrepit grinning mouth that has eaten shit, no expression necessary. he’s like that person you can’t stand in your school, office, neighborhood, wherever, that makes you grit your teeth when you see. instant headache. everything about them that was at one time genuine and at the very least ignorable, now annoys you, ahem, unnerves you. they have worn on your soul and you have had enough. now you pass this person, or in the main offender mr. richard’s case, you see this person in yet another magazine, and you want the skys to split open and a bolt of lightning to come flingin on down from th’ heavens and BOOM! dead. but you know, talk is cheap. besides, if the bolt comes down on you holding that there magazine, yer dead. you have to wish it on their head, wherever they may be. and we know where he is: lying in some room on a mound of pillows watching himself in the 12×5 ceiling mirror telling himself he’s dangerous, telling whatever girl is there that he rather likes his book, but he shoulda put that part in there about him gutting an alligator or crocodile, or, oh, i can’t remember which? what was it, hunny, an alligator or a crocodile? she can’t understand him. she paints her toe nails and sips on her cranberry and vodka with a splash of sea salt. well what makes you sooooo great? keith asks me. i don’t have a good answer to that question, probably never will. but here i am, eating 4 hard boiled eggs and a bud light for dinner at 10 on a thursday night, doing the best i can at looking forward. making a promise to my future gray self to never look back and pretend. remain honest and hack away and “cement a little every day, rather than add new fertilizers.”
the only rolling stones song i can listen to anymore is 2,000 man, but that will probably change, that’s just the cement of today.