John Wilkes Booth goes from famous to infamous.

April 14 1865, A. Lincoln is shot while trying to enjoy a night out with Martha. Who knows if he is saddened by the death wound or relived. Booth, a famous actor in his time decides this is the opportune moment to ensure his name will be burned into the memory of all school children from there on out. His plan works decisively, and the bastard breaks his leg living his last out in agony.

On 04/14/1941 Julie Christie came into being and sustained fame in her own right or by virtue of her body in addition to her acting skills, she did not kill a president and thus we are unaware of her middle name.

Made coffee this morning while badly limping and in incredible pain. Longing for the narcotics that I've given up I sit down to compose this.

I'm still on so many medications that I am not sure my brain works properly.

Today is another day I will not write much if anything at all as I am taken out to the garage to focus on other things that are temporarily important but currently necessary.

there was something I was going to write here but then someone started talking and I lost the thought.

6.9 earthquake hits Western China (400 dead for starters) and once again Mother Nature makes it painfully clear that she is not too happy, but, we humans are only bound by our self importance so the significance is lost on the majority of us. A cyclone gets 85 people in India.

Listening to Nick Cave and Warren Ellis soundtracks - best modern classical style music. Warren has a great Beard and plays a violin so beautifully it forces the sociopath to cry aloud where ever they are standing.

I am afraid to stand and keep writing in fear of the pain overtaking my self and leading to the darkest of places at nine O'clock in the morning.




My body still smokes – I don’t

Have I mentioned how much I hate pain?
Have I mentioned, yet, how much I fucking hate pain?
maybe it’s that I hate fucking pain;
but regardless, my leg wants to walk away without me.
my head wants to have a temporary separation from my hip
and my ass bleeds and says “fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.”

- Hoc Scripsi


if you have not yet, be sure to stop by Theather Underground to check out the poem Blank Pages.
If you haven't been by the Roadkill Zen Journal either - go there to read togethercoloured.