Childish + Chance = my jam today
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You guys know how much I love my tacos, but this, wow.
Purchased in defiance of *certain* *friends* who will *remain nameless* (DUNCAN FERGUSON) who wanted to hit up the McDonalds 100 yards away instead of waiting patiently in a line for 7 minutes. Firm anti-McD’s stance taken. One taco eaten in car on the way home with roomie. Two further tacos consumed in safety and warmth of bed, while Cat attempts to pilfer nuggets of cabeza. Attempts rejected, cat ejected from room.
Eaten with Tumbl-friend Jared in dimly-lit, deserted diner in the Los Angeles’ downtown warehouse district. Immediate retreat to Tony’s Saloon.
1 al pastor
Unnamed Super-Secret Spot in Cypress Park that I ain’t tellin NOBODY bout unless you come with me:
Eaten on the back patio of Footsie’s. They included some cute little potatoes braised in a vat of taco juice. (I love this place and they love me back so hard.)
1 al pastor
When I throw back my head and howl
People (women mostly) say
‘but you’ve always done what you want,
you always get your own way’
- a perfectly vile and foul
inversion of all that’s been.
What the old ratbags mean
is I’ve never done what I don’t.
So the shit in the shuttered chateau
who does his five hundred words
then parts out the rest of the day
between bathing and booze and birds
is far off as ever, but so
is that spectacled schoolteaching sod
(six kids, and the wife in pod,
and her parents coming to stay)…
Life is an immobile, locked,
Three-handed struggle between
your wants, the world’s for you, and (worse)
the unbeatable slow machine
that brings what you’ll get. Blocked,
they strain round a hollow stasis
of havings-to, fear, faces.
Days sift down it constantly. Years.