Froggacuda's Weblog

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, don’t stop on account of me. Obviously you’re reading this and so I thought I would take this time to explain that I have had this expression itch and so help me fuck it I’m going to pause here to have a cigarette in the office against the New Year’s resolution that I am really trying to stick to. BRB.
I once started a poem with the two-letter word “so” because it just seemed so fitting to catch your attention and make you pause, waiting for whatever came after so is always loaded like a stakebed truck. I hope my children read this someday and understand that I am twenty-five years old and my left wrist feels like it is full of street goo but I suspect it is carpal tunnel syndrome, the same thing that cursed my bro Alex Kohrt and made him give up playing guitar, the instrument upon which he was the BEST.
My cigarette in here tastes delicious but I hope that I quit soon (sense the weight of my priorities and the power of my will) and I am listening to “Psychotrance 3” and when you read this, children, I am drinking, too.
Something has broken, and the curse that has wracked my brain since I am no longer able to depend on everything being done by Mom (that creature eating the 10 minute pasta I made her because she made a polite request on her late way home from her job selling what she called me on: Sprint PCS digital wireless phones (say cellular and die). I have been reading Charles Bukowski and he just seems to sit at his beaten typewriter and write and the thoughts that he transcribes to the written medium are good enough for me, good enough for publication, and the only audience that I really care about are those persons like you, my poor Byronic blood, that somehow seem to love me.