it's 6:49 am.
i have been trying to sleep since 11 at night.
my lungs feel like they are going to collapse.
my lack of sleep is opening me up to all sorts of new levels of crazy.
crazy in an unbridled way.
this has been going on for weeks now. i sleep for twenty minutes, have horrifying dreams, smash my head against poles, confuse dreams with reality, pace around my room, and pace around bushwick at all sorts of intimate times of early morning.
but if i think i have it bad. what about this bird? i sat and watched it writhe and screech what i hoped to be it's last moments for at least fifteen minutes. what i should have done is taken a brick and bashed it's tragic head in, put it out of it's misery. but instead on the corner of fourteenth and a i whispered to the little bird,
everything is going to be okay, and you are not alone.
the only two things that anyone ever needs to hear. and apologized for not having the courage to hurl a brick at dying bird.
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As we were sitting by the river in Merritt Island, Fla. a few years back, Amy saw a seagull resting on a rock nearby.
She looked at me seriously.
She said, "how much if I take that fucker out with my bare hands?"
Before I could say anything, Amy picked up 4 large pebbles. With the sand still filtering through her small hand, she hurtled them at the seafull. Her shot was right on and the bird was too injured to fly away.
She ran over to the injured bird and took it by the neck.
She said, "Chase, do you love me, bitch!?"
She slowly twisted the wounded birds neck and bit it mid-neck, spitting the mouth and eyes into the Banana River.
I don't hang out with anyone from where I grew except Amy.
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