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Bang! & Get It over with!: 98 Percentiles
Preface
I read somewhere that one should not sign his or her name to anything until he or she has written volumes, and volumes of material. This collection I give you has come about through my depression, insomnia, the burying of loved ones and the treachery that that entails, many late nights courting a beautiful bottle of whiskey looking at the future world as if it were indeed saturated with shit.
Many of the words herein came as natural as the nonsense that, by my own admission, I have allowed to saturate my life. Others I labored over in an attempt to breach something inside of me yet untapped. All the while a cold sort of energy has been successful in carrying this pen of mine in search of this, or that, attempting to establish in my own mind some hilarious truth concerning something or another to do with the proof inside the fact that the reality of it all is… I haven’t the foggiest idea!
Here in the street that is just enough life’s breath to keep one drifting in the show window of the here and now .This, my fearful bewilderment, a delightfully demented possession of just the right touch of something to give words poignancy. I think. The proof I’ve found is that the facts have no meaning except what’s given to those who have established said facts. Cannibals and cutthroats all of them!
This, the” BANG SERIES” is me perpetually spending every single drop of energy I have in an attempt to find balance. I sign it passionately, with enthusiasm and love.
My mother told me many times that you cannot kill a beautiful weed. I agree.
I read somewhere that one should not sign his or her name to anything until he or she has written volumes, and volumes of material. This collection I give you has come about through my depression, insomnia, the burying of loved ones and the treachery that that entails, many late nights courting a beautiful bottle of whiskey looking at the future world as if it were indeed saturated with shit.
Many of the words herein came as natural as the nonsense that, by my own admission, I have allowed to saturate my life. Others I labored over in an attempt to breach something inside of me yet untapped. All the while a cold sort of energy has been successful in carrying this pen of mine in search of this, or that, attempting to establish in my own mind some hilarious truth concerning something or another to do with the proof inside the fact that the reality of it all is… I haven’t the foggiest idea!
Here in the street that is just enough life’s breath to keep one drifting in the show window of the here and now .This, my fearful bewilderment, a delightfully demented possession of just the right touch of something to give words poignancy. I think. The proof I’ve found is that the facts have no meaning except what’s given to those who have established said facts. Cannibals and cutthroats all of them!
This, the” BANG SERIES” is me perpetually spending every single drop of energy I have in an attempt to find balance. I sign it passionately, with enthusiasm and love.
My mother told me many times that you cannot kill a beautiful weed. I agree.
270 pages, Kindle Edition
Published December 3, 2015
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