Caffeine sweats

As i put pen to paper,
I don't have any particular topic in mind.

There are no specific scenarios i want to
back track on right now and i don't have any
idea as to what i should write on this paper..

I just like how easy it is to write with this pen,
and i've just finished my first cup of coffee in a week.

So let's see where i can go with this.

For a start it's a Tuesday night in New York City.

It's late and i'm locked in,
listening to some Howling Wolf.

His tunes are pretty heavy,
his voice gets a little jarring after a while.

What else..

I just made eye contact with some dude across the hall.

He took it upon himself to shave his beard off today,
because of this he's been hounded by dudes shouting at him,
saying his face looks like a big white pussy.

:D

Whenever i listen to blues music in here,
i can't help either laughing or smiling to myself
at the irony of the situation.

Looking around the room..

Bars on windows..

Jumpsuits..

A grimey-ass mirror..

It's like one of them American jail movies.

Then add the Blues..

Just like in them jail movies.

Except i'm actually here.

IN the fucking jail.

An it ain't no fucking movie!!

:(

Add a 260 pound cellmate..

Shit..

At least the beginning of the end is
starting to come into view..

About FUCKING TIME too..

I can't even take a fucking
DUMP in peace anymore..

"That n****r Timdog in there cashin' a cheque to one of them muscle fitness books!! No bullshit!!"

"Yo Thas' BRAYZEE my n****r!!"

Idiot.

First off..

Aint NO cheques getting motherfucking cashed in the MIDDLE
OF THE DAY while a squad of MORONS are outside the fucking door..

That's some next tramp move..

An SECONDLY..

Absolute fucking retards.

I ain't been down THAT long..

"This n****r was cashin' out to a National Geographic! Lookin' at how to disect a FROG! FREAK N****R!"

It's gotta be said though..

No pussy for two years..

Madame palm is starting to really lose her sex appeal.

I dun tried dressing her up in new garms..

Giving the dirty slag a make over..

But it ain't working and the bitch just looks pure busted.

I dun busted her ass so many times now she's beyond loose,
an no matter what kind of contortions i be twistin' the bitch
she ain't doin' nothing for me no more..

SHIT man..

Some days i end up just looking down,
an my dick looks back up me with this pathetic look on his face..

He just looks so fucking disapointed in its master..

He looks back up at me and asks me..

"What the FUCK is the point.."

I have no answer..

When life has crumbled away to the point where
you are jerking a completely un-interested piece of
meat-clad tubing to the same weak-ass softcore porno
magazine for years on end..

FUCK man..

...

Should i put the pen down?

Mostly probably.

But words keep coming to me..

This blue pen is also weaving them together
so effortlessly that i don't really CARE
what the content is anymore or how the
fuck i sound talking about this shit..

My back is throwing a spanner in the works though,
about eighty per cent of my writing and drawing is put
together while in a cross-legged position on my steel bed..

An i can tell you for free,
Sitting like this does my
spine no favours..

Even Yoga stretches are proving
to be pretty pointless, each time i do i get worried as
i hear about a thousand little cracks and pieces of my
flesh snapping into different positions..

It's a little worrying i must admit..

I should really stop writing..

Sooner or late it's going to take a trip south..

A predictable re-hash of a a prior memory or experience..

An unconvincing attempt at masking resent towards prior aquaintances..

Perhaps talking about what i have planned for the future?

:/

No that's probably not a good idea either..

Its like an extreme dick-tease.

:(

So yeah..

I might as well brush my teeth and tongue (you're supposed to)..

Do the rest of my monotomous regime that i've been doing for
the last thousand million days i been held captive in here..

Then lay in the dark..

Staring at the ceiling..