Category Archives: DEBAUCHERY

“It is another beautiful evening here at the Red Pony bar and continual soirée, how can I help you?” ― Craig Johnson, The Cold Dish

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“in the cupboard sits my bottle
like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers.
I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony,
sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere,
the phone rings gamboling its sound
against the odds of the crooked sea;
I drink deeply and evenly now,
I drink to paradise
and death
and the lie of love.”

—Charles Bukowski, “Soirée”

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Selena Odom: I have a master of an evil kind He totally controls my body, soul, and mind.

 

 

DRANSFIELD

last week,  I think on Tuesday,

she died

just gave up breathing

toppled over

a big smashed doll

with the needle still in her arm

 

I made a funeral of leaves

and sang the Book of Questions

to her face as white as hailstones

to her eyes as closed as heaven

‘For Ann so still and dreamy’

http://printedshadows.wordpress.com/category/australian-poetry/michael-dransfield-collected-poems/

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“What was so painful about Amy’s death is that I know that there is something I could have done. I could have passed on to her the solution that was freely given to me. Don’t pick up a drink or drug, one day at a time. It sounds so simple; it actually is simple but it isn’t easy; it requires incredible support and fastidious structuring.”

― Russell Brand

I smell the whiskey on your breath. And you beg for me to put your temper to the test. You slap me around, and call me names. Mom, I’m sick of playing these games.

Please Stop, Mom. © Kayla S. BirdnoDRUNKENNESS BANISHED1 1 1 1 1 1 1 The Daily News (Perth, WA - 1882 - 1950), Tuesday 8 August 1950,

The Daily News (Perth, WA : 1882 – 1950), Tuesday 8 August 1950,

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article84473769

“You scour the Bowery, ransack the Bronx,/ Through funeral parlours and honky-tonks./ From river to river you comb the town/ For a place to lay your family down.”

Ogden Nash

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Bowery Blues

The story of man
Makes me sick
Inside, outside,
I don’t know why
Something so conditional
And all talk
Should hurt me so.

I am hurt
I am scared
I want to live
I want to die
I don’t know
Where to turn
In the Void
And when
To cut
Out

For no Church told me
No Guru holds me
No advice
Just stone
Of New York
And on the cafeteria
We hear
The saxophone
O dead Ruby
Died of Shot
In Thirty Two,
Sounding like old times
And de bombed
Empty decapitated
Murder by the clock.

And I see Shadows
Dancing into Doom
In love, holding
Tight the lovely asses
Of the little girls
In love with sex
Showing themselves
In white undergarments
At elevated windows
Hoping for the Worst.

I can’t take it
Anymore
If I can’t hold
My little behind
To me in my room

Then it’s goodbye
Sangsara
For me
Besides
Girls aren’t as good
As they look
And Samadhi
Is better
Than you think
When it starts in
Hitting your head
In with Buzz
Of glittergold
Heaven’s Angels
Wailing

Saying

We’ve been waiting for you
Since Morning, Jack
Why were you so long
Dallying in the sooty room?
This transcendental Brilliance
Is the better part
(of Nothingness
I sing)

Okay.
Quit.
Mad.
Stop.

Kerouac Jack