of her fragile mental health.
i wrote those lines. it’s longer but i think i posted it before.
i wanted to re-visit the scene of this rhyme though, for reasons that seem transparent:
things fall apart, the centre cannot hold
mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
w.b. yeats wrote that of course.
Please
I have a print out of that in my filing cabinet.
whenever i read the lines, “slouching toward bethlehem” i think of SGC.
speaking of SGC, people who don’t know him, or only know him at his worst, or know him only too well, would be pleasantly surprised to know more about him. IE: he once said to me, and the quotes are almost as important as that it was apropos to nothing; he just announced it, as it were: “jimi, in this story i’m writing, i was fucking my mom in the axx…”
he’s the only person i ever met that could get away with that kind of over the top inappropriate, because it was part and parcel of his everyday vernacular.
miss him. don’t want him in my life again, but definitely miss him.
He once told me that a story he was writing climaxed with “a plastic dick filled with bleach.”