Flowers are red, young man. "A" is to "B" as "B" is to "C." Unless it isn't. There's no need to see genetics any other way than the way they always have been seen.

Month: June 2017

It’s Late

I was laying in bed with David and he suddenly had a startled expression.
He said “Your heart and your throat are going to go. It’s just going to explode.”
Tears rolled out of both of his eyes.
“No one’s going to be there. Who’s going to be there for you?”
I know that.
But why do YOU know that?


I knew something was off when we were fucking. He was kind of faking it. I was like, okay, the dude’s an escort I think. Maybe straight.
He spent a long time in the shower and my antenna pricked up: 
He’s hallucinating in there.
When he got out he was so nervous and terrified that I was uncomfortable and I was like, okay, look, I need to ask you to go.
He nodded and agreed.
Then I noticed his two mismatched socks.
“Do you even know where you’re going next?”
“Are you homeless?”
[Long pause.]
I gave him a good long once-over and decided to trust him.
I said why don’t you just sit down here and calm down?
I got him some water and made him a turkey sandwich and said alright, you can stay but on one condition. I will be more comfortable if I can look in your bag and just make sure there’s no weapons or drug paraphernalia in there.
He handed it to me and I rifled through it.
I don’t know what he said while I was cooking him a turkey burger, but whatever it was made me drop all the bullshit.
He was loud and he was train wrecking his sentences. I cringed from time to time because the walls here are paper thin.
He said that he had dropped all his dope on his bicycle and dropped his bag and broken both of his pipes.
I was like, eh. I guess something intervened to make sure you weren’t bringing drugs over tonight. 
He was going to take his bicycle and ride off into the night and figure out where he was going to stay next. And I don’t know how he was going to do that given the condition he was in, but all I will say about that is he is one strong mother fucker.

I ended up feeding him and letting him sleep for a couple of days.
He was wrecked and battered. I had shit to do and wasn’t going to leave him in my place alone so I would carry him to the truck and back to the building at times.

Sometimes I just left him sleeping in the car while I attended to errands.
Every now and again he’d come to, and not really know where he was or how he got there.
He started recognizing me after the first day or so.
He would look startled and then start sobbing when he realized he was safe and being cared for.

What. The. Fuck…

I took him to see Snoop Dogg at the Bellagio on Friday, just because he lit up like a little kid when I mentioned that I was half considering it.
Saturday he was alert and back to himself. He was a bright kid. Good kid.
We cuddled and I was awash and dazzled with goofy brain chemicals.
But he was like a butterfly resting his wings.
He stretched out, he flexed his wings, and off he went on his bicycle.
I’m gazing at some of the stuff he wanted from the store and never touched.
And feeling completely empty right now.