Horror of the Gag #327: “The Voice From Hickory Hill”
What I rly wanted was to be ultimate badasses with u, make waves n take no shit n make real good things. Cya
Caged always/imagined or not, could blame family history, mom and dad, military life, suburbia, WASPy high schools, bougie college, etc. The point is being free exists and I want it
I’m gonna be a cowboy you can’t stop me.
Not my shoes not my problem motherfucker
Tv adventures Trash city Garbage plots everything your mom and dad said. We should just wait.
If you don’t know a place, be a tourist. at least it’s safe. And isn’t that the most important thing. Fun and fear v. fiiiiine furs
I wanna blend in everywhere cuz I want every place to be my place
Don’t see daylight for a while it gets wacky. I had a dark winter he said
I u dismiss most things as stupid or fake for failing in their attempts to be as good as intended, ur most likely an asshole who doesn’t know how to like things in degrees.
Sorry to all the jerks stubbornly livin jerk lives
Her novel just dropped. She told me it’s about people refusing to be happy, because then they to have something to lose.
I can talk about falling in and out of love over and over again to know how to navigate heartbreak. Or I can do it. We talk about how our hatred of certain leaders is misplaced hatred of power. It reminds me of alienating people, the different shapes of fear disguised as something else. Evading trust because what is it really like to be cared for?
I’m seeing that directness can be a way to dismiss the unsettling subtleties of things “confronted” too quickly. How stream of consciousness word vomit runs on past useful reflection. How this can look a lot like openness. Why it is so gratifying to keep a wound open
My friend went around the little gallery with his unnerving camera asking everyone to name their turn-ons and turn-offs. “Biting. Aaand DeniaI guess? In any form.” An hour later a projector threw it on the wall, us describing ourselves.
I told him not to joke about atrocities committed by humans because unspeakable horrors must be treated seriously. Afterwards on the porch, I ate my own words realizing it was a trick to defend ignorance of situations I feared. I was thinking of a man on the radio last week, saying, “There are some things we need to know everything about, or life is too painful.”
I wasn’t around to see the kid’s noise set, but I heard it was about getting your dick cut off and being into it.
Being able to laugh at absurdity feels like acceptance or “fuck it” or things are what they are
Ominous rooms of full books thrown about white carpet and running in the dark flicking switches on dead lights in vain. Sharing a smoke outside a friend’s lonely townhouse. A naked boy wearing a bra and a girl shivering in a blanket, ankle deep in a pile of leaves.
I keep thinking about Danny Brown putting up a skate park in Detroit and saying, “All I know is I just wanna be the man.”
I have mixed feelings about Lucifer
rest of my love to backfired, broke-ass stars
sendin love to everyone who held a roman candle and got burned
You like being lonely. You need it as much as you need people around. Mister “I’m not here.” Why learn to know this well, lonely with people and lonely without them? You will have it with you always.
Miss voyeur (of souls housed in bodies). Who? The girl with sleepy eyes, drained from digging with seizures of misplaced interest.
I will wait all night for a small good thing. I wait days and years even if I’m certain of inevitable emptiness. I welcome long waits towards indeterminate ends. I can’t explain why a husk of sincerity from others is enough, when I must give all of anything.
I know people forget everyone else when they’re in love but when you’re playing a fucking set at a festival you gotta forget your ego and it’s bullshit desires and fears and take your turn to plug in and respond and talk to these other performers and people who came out to see what you came to say (sonically, or whatever)
I guess I’m just so tired of this fucking bullshit. It doesn’t even come from jealousy but believing that people actually want to make something but when it comes down to it they really just want to feel ok and comfortable and have pigeonholed themselves to only feel comfortable with one person and when that person is freaked out then everything is fucked.
And seriously fuck that. Like I know everyone’s a little kid inside and is scared and hurt easily and I have to understand them and empathize and I do. I empathize to a point where it really fucks me up and it never turns off and honestly I really hate it because it doesn’t benefit other people either. I mean maybe I trust people too much. Like not really truly trust them, but I go through the motions on the surface hoping that if they mirror my hopeful pretense they might actually be honest about the things they say they want. Like when you’re depressed and someone tells you to keep doing the things you used to like even if you feel nothing, because if you do it enough you’ll eventually feel something and you’ll start to maybe enjoy your life for real.
So fuck people in denial who are in “love” or shall I say dependence. And fuck me for bein pulled into the gravity of two such people. I am not one of them right now, because fuck that. Fuck pretending, fuck indirectness. I’d rather be a mean honest bitch then some kinda cheerful liar tiptoeing around everything that matters to anyone else.
Now all I can think is, “How can I turn this into a joke?” And remain outside of the joke? Because I don’t wanna be upset about stupid shit like this. It should be funny because my life is ridiculous and when will things start to actually be real
from your chest
L’homme idéale / la femme idéale
don’t be a fool
I’ve never been in this part of town at midnight before. Now where? ____________ Oh. That is a camera …
That’s the jail.
Railroad tracks. Four fresh big mounds side by side. About the size of bodies, as I step over. I didn’t eat much today so my walk is soft, quiet, ginger. And I’m stoned, so I’m frightened of the dark and pussy out of scrambling down a muddy bank to tag the black belly of a concrete bridge.
She screamed and I called her name and asked her to come down please