Black Rebel Motorcycle Club ASK iAN * A FELINE IN THE STORM

Ask iAN

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    It all started when i got a gold crap car and ran with my woman to Troost St. Kansas City and it was trains, acid, basement fucking, a ghost in the attic and a serial killer down the street...and my woman stripping and fucking the mook owner Then on a greyhound with 500 dollars...not exactly loaded for bear...and by the time i got to heroin sentral i was booted into a motel with 24 cheap beers in a tub and 2 newspapers with classifieds to find a hovel... Needles in the street Jesus on my chest working at a gas station drinking booze at the grave of Jimi Hendrix and another bus back into the shit smack dab into a 600 shit plunk station wagon cross country to SF into a Motel/Rooming House full of dope, deranged individuals, death and blue lady luck in the bar next door left the car to two bums bussed up to L.A. arrived under helicopter lights and gunfire now deranged myself and rollerskating down Hollywood Blvd... hair bleached, in a smoke ash fur coat i spun back to the shitlands drove a regal car across country to Arizona then up to L.A. then back to AZ Bowling bad Speed brothers groggy motorcycle clubs and fat dirty panties, dog shit and an abortion i think i forgot to mention the first abortion... All i wanted was to fall in Love with something as deep-sea as the touch of dark blue velvet... jail, and then some more jail and driving from hospital to hospital on top of suicides from far away hospital food stuffs and did i forget the drive back to Arizona stuck in a cube with a borrowed 10 inch tv full of commercials, flat heat, empty walls and stolen books and the dogs and the cat with blind eyes and the funerals Living in a moldy basement working jobs from ash moving to valet parking back busting mail and magazines fucking until 3 protecting queers from rage and money selling cocaine rescuing dogs from trashcans birds from the street and always putting something in the ground or up for hock money here, money goes there, money goes all around but never lands too long in my lap before Snatched... planes, ice cubes, terror dogs visa cards The Sun comes up as a black crow in a bad luck alarm clock the Sun sets with black Baudelaire flowers blooming in my mind... back logged and full of dead heroes plumes of golden light smoke wood grain pint piss and fucked out thoughts like a chef stirring up in the attic I can't even find the starting gate to even surrender the ghost crow woeful moans through a crease in a dead mother bedroom window i know Fame and Fame knows Everybody touches everybody as blood spills from tattoos in Russian snow and young bodies fall from dead cold bridges in Helsinki and friends turn invisible in New York... I am left with a dirty bible of journals of people and times i can't recall and at certain times perhaps i even lapped up some luxury only to spray it like a soldier from a dirty gurney a stiff white baby shoe digested books on surgery hold ups and unmitigated shame speckled baby blue egg shells birds without a chance in the garden flip the chrome zippo and kick the engine over a midnight drive through the cemetery i worked at full of good and evil witnessing parents that would rather spend 10 thousand dollars on a bog room rather than 10 dollars on a dying son's shower head and curtain... and Dallas will change anybody's fate and the planes take off as the bus rolls in as the train comes to a stop... a simple candle light to see who i am a part of You and a part of nothing which is the Universe in a Nutshell Hooray for the Macy's day parade Hooray for what the Hospitals don't clean up Hooray for insurance claims and drunken dreams We are all in this Ocean Mad in a series of twinkling stars, ghost and jazz Jesus can You hear me... from this metal trash can from this leather jacket that holds my woe at peace from this planet full of movies and disease i ain't knockin' i ain't lookin' for an exit i'm searching for the Light  
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