Sep 17, 2016
For John.
This in spite of saviour. Sitting, rambling prophetic’s and wisdom. Higher than all of us. Greyer than paint. Thinner than models. There’s more life in death than him. There’s a real psychosis in his glare yet nothing but sense spills from his mouth. I learned more in 33 minutes of listening to a Junkie about the world than I have from my parents. Or anyone. Everyone struggles. He transcended it, naturally at the cost of his teeth and skin and the disposable things. And he turned it all to sound. He barely has arms, but he turned it to sound anyways. A fire nearly ate him. But he survived it and needles and replaced his teeth and washed his arms. I’m gladly he stayed. I need him and he’ll never know.
