Mike iLL


| | | — | | Can’t hardly afford to talk to my deeply depressed girlfriend on the phone. The dollars trickle in like grease from under the stove. She’s silent for 5 minutes at a time, breaking the dead air only to mutter a word or two. Ain’t seen her eyes or hugged in weeks. Out here playin’ for empty rooms forging a future of poverty. Dreaming to raise a family without following the misery of my guilty father or dead-beat musical heroes. People say, “You got to make some money in this industry.” Sending flowers is beautiful. Hate the telephone. Never was too good at it. I need to see you, to guage your reactions. Need to touch you and feel you and smell you. Is there a formula for the time-distance-love-pain of missed lovers. Does absence always make the heart grow fonder, or does it sometimes grow tired and forget? How many relationships sacrificed for sand-castle careers? When you’re happy I’m jealous (of who?), sad I’m frustrated and guiltish. She’s crashing from chocolate, me from starch. Her from coffee, me from cashews. Neither of us smoke tobacco this week. How come some people eat and drink and have the most unhealthy, fucked-up lives, but seem so happy? Bet we seem happy too. Few weeks ago she said, “I’m not happy anymore.” I said, “I don’t think I ever was, but we’re joyous.” She said, “That’s bullshit.” So blessed to feel this pain of heartache. Hate this. Hated myself for a while yesterday. Crying and moaning alone, parked in the gas station where I woke up. Last nights eyeliner still on (left the bathroom kit in Ashville).

Hiway 78 is all Church of Jesus, Used and New Tires and lots containing more than one house in various states of disrepair; like they just put a trailer in the front yard and moved over into it. Wish you were here to see it with me. All these pretty cows. Why we gotta kill ‘em just to die? Please oh Goddess’ of love, even though you drive us nuts we call on you. Oshun, Venus, Aphrodite; help us in our endeavor to complete each other in these distant days. Tomorrow I’ll bring my heart to the post office. Still Not Complaining, Mike iLL |