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Found an old ford that hasn’t run in years. I was determined to drive it home.

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Chavalah

Little bird fluttered wings. flew across the sky kinda clumsy little eyes and little feet her soft chirps called to me Come and hate the world with me. Stuck in the system, but your different, A beacon of light , maybe? let's revel in it let's hate in it, let's be miserable together, Because with you it's not so horrible. I've got a life, I've got my time I've got my kind but it's better now, less tragic now, so when I'm in my misery, it's next to you I wanna be just to see a different point You are safe, so comfortable So sweet the little chirps so bright the little feathers so soft the little flutters to the little bird did I say I like You with me today I wonder when you'll fly away a bird like you can't be caged never would I want you changed free to be what you want a wonder for all who watch The little bird spread her wings there I sat alone again. not sad as much as thought because I can see her still, drifting way up there in the air

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#brickthegun #codependency #control #fear #pain #loss

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[brickthegun]

She

She lifted her hand to his face. He looked at the freckles surrounding nose and spreading across her cheeks. She touched him softly. Caressed his stubbled chin. If he would have known this was the last time, he would have turned her over again. Tied her, bound her, slapped her face with his cock in her mouth. Watch the tears stream down. Listen to her as she begged, ‘more’.

But, he didn't know, how could he know? The future is never told, especially when so short.

So he kissed her, biting the piercing in her lip, smelling her breath as he held her face captive to his. 

“Daddy!” She whined with surprise.

“Promise me princess”, he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Promise what Daddy?” she squirmed. Hand grabbing his chin. This always turned her on. even though they just fucked.

“Promise me you’ll be a good girl, no more snorting” He doubted she would listen, but he knew he should try something. He moved his hand down between her legs, ran his finger over her pierced hood. She squirmed just a bit more, clamped her legs shut trapping his hand in. 

“Daddy! I cant think when you touch me!”

“Promise me, or I’ll never touch princess again!”

“Daddy!…I promise Daddy, now let me go!”

“Is that a real promise?” He rubbed faster, the piercing between his fingers, he felt her getting wet again, her breath quickened just slightly"

“Yes Daddy, I promise!, Now let me go, I have to go home before work!”

“In a minute Princess” He held fast to her lip ring, grabbed her hand and held it above her head. His fingers still rubbing, he loved to make her cum.

He woke, opening the curtains to his living room, cursing the bright sunshine while inviting it in. It was gonna be a glorious day. 

Out on the lawn he saw three crows. Deep blue and black reflected off the feathers. They stood motionless. 'Eerie’ he thought.

Checking his phone he read the texts he missed during his sleep. His best wanted dinner, His mom wanted a day at the park. But nothing from princess. He wondered if she was in another, 'I need space’ phase. 

He didn’t mind. He had gotten behind on projects spending time with her, this would give him a chance to catch up.

His day unfolded with ease. Couple of chores at home. Coffee with the best. Plans made with Mom at the park next thursday. Work was even slow and enjoyable. 

His favorite customers came in. Bought a new set of table lamps. Then, home. Still nothing from princess.

He walked up the sidewalk to his small two bedroom. He loved having a small space in such a large city. Even had a yard. He surveyed his street appeal as the house came into view, then the three crows. Still sitting in the grass. 'Odd’ he thought, ’ I don’t think they’ve moved’,

He walked up the stone walk to the door and let himself in. Feeling a pang of hunger he walked to the kitchen. There on the counter was a plastic wrapped plate of cookies. Ribbons and a bow tied to the top.  A note was stuck under the plate. He picked it up as he moved the wrap to grab a cookie. They smelled delicious. Maybe a hint of almond. Opening the note he recognized princess’s writing,

 "Daddy, you are the greatest, always mine and no one elses, Love Princess"

He smiled. Thought about how crazy this has been. This person he barely knew sharing such exciting and intimate moments with him.

He popped the cookie into his mouth and began to chew. Defintlly almond. Although bitter. He grabbed a couple more and headed for the shower. 

Steam rolled around him. He began to feel dizzy. He had to sit. His eyes grew very heavy. He needed to sleep. He felt he would pass out right there in the tub, hot water pouring over his back. He closed his eyes. The taste of bitter almonds still in his mouth.

 "Always mine and no one elses" where his last thoughts.

http://brickthegun.blogspot.com/2016/11/she.html?m=1

[brickthegun]

Words of the Verse

If I ever wrote a song,

would you sing a long  

Learn the words in the verses while driving your car

Play the cords on your guitar?

If I wrote a book would you take it to bed?

The thump as it falls to the floor wakes you up and you dog-ear the last page you read?

If a painting I create would it hang, framed above the fireplace?

Collecting dust and comments through the years,Darkening in time, but you remember the shine?

Its not that I have anything to say really, I just want to be heard.

Would you learn the words in the verse? 

http://brickthegun.blogspot.com/2016/10/words-of-verse.html

[brickthegun]

The sky

She was the sky to him. 

Open and free. 

Clean. Full of dreams. 

When she rained he sat, felt the cold on his skin. The stinging drops of pain. He welcomed them in. Let them pour out of her, to ease her ways.

When she blew, a cold frigid wind, he bundled up and settled in. The torrent didn't phase him. His empathy great and understanding. He waited for them to warm, though the warmth of the wind still pulled at his skin.

The grey cloudy days he waited patiently. Let them pass as she fought to clear them. He would lay and look for patterns, shapes, something to point out, to cheer her up. Odd musings of his observances.

During the darkest of her nights he watched, looked for the twinkle of stars in her eyes. Sometimes he caught a glimpse. Fleeting but worth it. Moments he never forgot.

Once in a while her light shown through,  a single ray, a moment of clarity. It touched him, warmed his skin. He enjoyed the glimpses of sun on her face.

Then. Rarely. The sun shone bright. She was alight. Shinning and clear. And she was gone. Laughing, running, jumping, living.

During this he bid his time. Passive activities to ease his mind. Distractions to keep him alive. 

The sun would burn too bright, come to a crescendo and begin it's plight. She would set in her own horizon, quicker then her morning rise.

He would catch her in the storm. Everytime, he would hold against the wind. Listen as the rain took over, wetting his skin. Find the patterns in her gloom and look for little points of star glimmer.

Then. One day. Her sun came. She started to frolic and fade from him. This time. It was different. He clutched his chest. He felt it heave. A snake of pain began to weave. Around his organs it slithered, squeezing, constricting, he forgot to breath.

The weight he felt was heavy. He began to crush into himself. 

Destruction became his method. To destroy before she could welcome him back to the cold frigid winds.

He slumped and began to crumble. 

No longer dreamed in his slumber.

 When she came blowing back in, he was gone, his own victim. Never to catch the rain again.

http://brickthegun.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-sky.html?m=1

[brickthegun]

This House

Rearranged the house today. Every push of the couch and pull of the dresser I found a memory. A stain or scratch in the paint. A living space full of so much more then things. Whispers of my past.

This house is old, with memories I don't hold. 

Sometimes I try to listen.

Who walked this floor before, played with the squeaky board under foot? Who sat neck deep in the slowly cooling tub? 

Does the past still live here? 

Can that energy be felt? 

Does it touch me in ways un-felt?

I wonder. 

Every couple I've met that shared this roof has broke. Is this house cursed?

Once in a while I drive pass places I used to live. 

Do the new occupants ever think of me? Listen for my energy, past laughter, love and pain? 

I wonder if they ever see my silent screams of doubt in the bathroom mirror during dark night?

I look at the closed, curtained windows and my mind fills with the rooms within

That grey, house behind that window, I remember dinners with my mom,

That tan house, behind that window, I lost my virginity,  

That second story apartment behind that window, the first time I dropped acid,

The blue house with roses out front, behind that window I found the positive pregnancy test,  

That house behind that window that's...that's where death came, 

and that window over there, my aunt, lifeless in my arms,

And that ugly house, and that window...that fucking window... I don't talk about.

Do the people inside even know? Have a clue of what happened? Did the real estate agent tell them? But how could they know, unless the energy holds.

They are all as I remember but changed

the flowers are different,

The swing-set is gone, 

I wonder if my cat is still buried in that back yard?

And when I leave this house, carry the last box out, nothing left behind except settling dust and the memories attached.

Who will walk across that squeaky board and feel my footprint?

http://brickthegun.blogspot.com/2016/09/this-house.html?m=1

[brickthegun]

I saw this post on my dash (with commentary, dw) and there was one thing that I didn’t see addressed in the comment chain that I really feel needs to be

Once an artist creates a work, they own the copyright

None of this “I paid for the art. It is mine.” bullshit, unless the artist actually sells you the copyright (something which has to be stated and never assumed, and something you would have to pay extra for) you can not claim ownership over the piece, even if you paid for it.

And yes, this means you can not alter the work in any way, you can not use it for banners/advertisements/etc., you can not print it, you can not sell copies unless agreed upon with the artist

and artists are also protected under moral rights

meaning that the artist has the right of attribution (the right to be identified and named as the creator of their work), the right against false attribution, and the right of integrity. (Source)

so fuck off with your “I paid for the art. It is mine.” crap, it doesn’t stick legally

[brickthegun]

Officer Duck pt.3

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Officer Duck pt.2

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Officer Duck. Pt1

[brickthegun]

Solitary Man; comfort

She lay on the floor in front of him. She was reading something out loud about the moon and stars He listened as he looked her over. Her voice was soft and gentle as she passionately spoke what was written. .

She was on her back. Knees up. Tablet in one hand as the other absent mindedly ran across her bare stomach. Her shirt had ridden up. .

Wavy brown hair fanned out above her head. Her breasts hugged by the tight cloth.  .

He wanted to touch, to caress her but knew she was in a peaceful moment. She was completely her. Expressing her truest self. He wouldn't interrupt. .

She was comfortable. So was he. .

This was not o.k..

He reflected on comfortable..

People become too comfortable. They become complacent.  .

Born with curiosity and vigor most are beat down by the system. .

First thing is a piece of paper with your name on it. Carry this for the rest of your life.

Another full of the most important numbers.

Rules and regulations. Schools teach conformity. Don't stand out. Unless it is success in what the system deems worthy. 

Then Government issued I.D. in trade for a drive. Better have this on you at all times.

Trading this info to make money, it's such a privilege. Buy credit anything they keep track of it. 

Selective Service. Fingerprints. This is the line you stand in. Don't step out.

Money owed to everyone for everything just to stumble through life.

Graduate only to do four more unless it's labor you want.

More debt, more bills, more stress than ever.

But it's comfort everyone seeks. Instead of standing out. It's what's taught. Get a job. Consume. Stimulate the economy. 

Conformity.

Apathy.

He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. 

Chaos. It was what he created. What he craved. He sought out those who gave it back.

She provided little chaos. It was him that gave the destruction.

She was pretty calm. Straight laced. Maybe a little crazy. But she was willing to follow him. Into his world. And she wanted to be learn the things he knew.

So he let her run with him. Longer than anyone in the past. He let her in. They drank together. Shared hotel rooms together. Ran schemes together. They had made pretty good money at it. Lived pretty nice. He took her to restaurants. And movies. Spent time at the beach. They scammed a couple pimps. Ruined the business of a dealer or two. It had become comfortable.

And that was not ok. 

He had one more job for her. Then he'd be done. He had one more fuck for her. Then he'd get in his truck and run. 

Because he had too. He would not become apathetic. Would not become comfortable.

It was best for her anyway. He destroyed every girl he let in. He learned long ago he could not be 'the one' for anyone.

Not even her. The tall blonde. His one true love. She snapped into his head. There she was. Dancing as she drove, her movements a song. Her eyes bright behind her glasses. Always smiling. He had to let her go and it ripped him apart. And now he needed her out of his head.

He grabbed the beer next to him and drowned the memory.

He noticed it had gotten quite. He looked over at the brunette. She had finished reading. She looked at him with want in her eyes. He reached over and gently caressed her bare stomach feeling the warmth of her skin. She turned her head and closed her eyes. Lifting her arms above her head.

'Maybe two more fucks' he thought as he unbuttoned her pants.

https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2676361732346123505#editor/target=post;postID=8430309891510842426;onPublishedMenu=overviewstats;onClosedMenu=overviewstats;postNum=7;src=postname

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Solitary Man, No Jesus

The curtains hung on the crooked rod. yellow with age and dust. Water stained at the bottom. thick, they filtered any light from outside when closed. But they hung with a gap, maybe an inch or two. Light from the street light entered the room in a line that fell on the brown short shag of the ancient carpet and contorted as it traveled up the bed. It landed on her as she slept. Highlighting the curve of her ass as she slept on her side, knees pulled up, arm across her head. One sheet covering her nakedness. Her long dirty blonde hair flowed down the bed behind her. It was breathtaking. She was sweating.

 He sat on the lone chair in the room. Blue, square, arms dirty with years of use. A round faux wood table next to him. Brochures, t.v. channel listings, heavy glass ashtray half full of butts. Pipe, baggy, spoon, needle, candle, bottle of lube, bottle of knob creek all adorned the top. He blew smoke through the line of light. it danced and swirled. He sat in his boxers, watching the girl. She was a bit of fun. But he was done now. She wanted too much destruction. He had aided. His money bought her escape but it was almost at an end. She had sunk deep into her depression and wasn’t much��fun anymore. More fiend then friend now. The marks in her toes too many. 

 He never partook, just watched. He had his drink, cigarettes and an occasional hit of pot. And sex. When he wasn't too drunk. Never anything harder, but he never stopped others. It was their folly

 He smashed the cheery out in the ashtray, the familiar smell of burnt filter hit his nose. He grabbed the bottle of knob creek, pulled the cork and swallowed the last half shot. it burned. so good.

 She groaned and moved. mumbling. He knew she was good now. He no longer needed to keep watch. She would wake soon, complaining of stomach pain and head to the bathroom. He wondered if she would even notice he was gone until she came out. 

 He pulled on his jeans. Blue, well washed and torn above the left knee, a burn on the inside of the right calf. Socks, then boots. Pulled his shirt over his head, then leather jacket. He grabbed his half pack of cigarettes. Walked over to the dresser and grabbed the tinfoil of tar. He flushed it. Hoping it would help but knew it probably wouldn’t. She was half gone when he met her. He gave her a couple months at most. But what was he too do? He was no fucking Jesus. Never knew anyone that was. Everyone had their motives. Nothing was sacred. No one was sane. Just people using people for their own gain. He thought on this a moment. 

 Even the most pious, a preacher, uses god against his own flock to gain money and power. He had just used the god of all, money, to gain a little fun. Truly he was doing gods work? 

 A prominent business man uses those he owns to gain his wealth and position, and he is praised for it, given awards, given office and power to control more. Then history calls the wealthy great, ignores his impurities.  Surely he stimulated the economy?

 He used the promise of comfort for personal gain. How does his business transaction differ?

 She had used him. Needed the money for the drug, he had it. He wanted the ass. Skinny, heroin-hot. Willing to give it up and often. So they engaged in mutually destructive behavior. Not his first, wouldn't be his last.  

 As he touched the handle that would lead him outside he stopped. Thought he might be too drunk to ride. Then in his introspection he thought of her. Not last nights girl. But…her. He couldn't say her name. He was drunk when he last saw her. Hair flowing, long legs in those very short tights, him riding off on his bike. He was such a creature of habit. He brushed the thoughts aside.

 The handle clicked and turned. He was outside. The wind was light but cold. His hair fell into his eyes. A slight fog wisped though the streets. The tiny droplets stung on his cheeks. It was going to be a cold ride.  He straddled his ‘78. turned the key, hit the start button and the shovel burped then rumbled to life. As he turned onto the road he thought about the world. Thought about people. Who was gonna use him next? Who was he gonna use?

http://brickthegunsolitaryman.blogspot.com/2015/07/no-jesus.html?m=1

[brickthegun]

Solitary Man, Hilfiger

The leather sleeve creaked. He raised the cigarette to his lips. Lightly pinched between his forefinger and thumb he inhaled. The ember brightened, he heard the tobacco crackle but didn't listen. The filter softened and caved slightly under the stress of the heat. He pulled it off his lip quick. It burned. Rolling the butt to find a cooler grip he slowly blew smoke out his nostrils. The tendrils of smoke played with his stubble mustache as it slowly rose towards the street light from his seat in the doorway.

 IF someone were to pass he would have struck an iconic image. Sitting in the sunken doorway of an old building. Cement with poorly repaired cracks. He sat on one step; his booted feet rested a step down. arms across the black denim knees of his pants, rolled up at the bottom, left hand resting on right knee, right hand held the cigarette. Leather jacket. Dark blonde hair hung down over his eyes. A few days old beard. The street light provided a cone of light a few feet from the building and lit him up just enough to be seen. But very few in the city where out at this hour. He went unseen, and he knew it. He inhaled. Let the smoke out slowly through his lips. The rain filtered the smoke from the air though it drifted up past the light.

It was a dark night. Darker than most. The rain was thick and steady. Had been for hours. The city hadn't seen the sun in a week. It was cold. Miserable. Even the animals stayed hidden in what dry hole they could find. Any sound was muted greatly by the constant barrage.

His eyes fixed on the building a block down as his mind wandered. A girl. Tall. Skinny, but with the right curves. Blonde. And that smile. But it wasn't last night’s girl. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd seen her. A week? A month? It didn't matter. He couldn't go back. She wasn't his. He changed his thoughts. 

The ember burned past the tan line of the filter. He held in the last drag as he flicked the butt. He didn't know where it landed. Slowly he blew through his nose, the smoke almost completely absorbed.

Headlights appeared down the street. Just a bright spot that shone on the wet asphalt. Even the light was dimmed by the rain. He hunkered against the wall. Hiding himself from the light, though he knew he was already invisible. As the car neared the lights became visible as two. It slowed and pulled next to the curb two buildings down. Just under the multi-colored neon sign that read, "Girls!, Girls!, Girls!". It was 3 a.m. this punk was late, as usual. 

The driver’s door of the coupe opened. It was a Cadillac. Early 90's. Black. Cracked front bumper. Primer on the rear quarter panel. Fuzzy dice on the mirror and rusted wire rims. The driver, hat sideways, Hilfiger jacket, pants sagging, ran to the doorway of the club. He started knocking. 

"Took you forever" thought the man in the leather jacket as he stood up. He reached in his jacket pocket and felt cold brass. He slipped his fingers through the holes as he started down the street. 

'Hilfiger' started to pound on the door. Started yelling for Ashley

"How cute" he thought as he crossed the street, “Hilfiger thinks Ashley is still there" but he knew better. She had left work early. Ashley was probably still passed out in his hotel room. Last night’s girl. Tall, long strawberry blonde hair. Pale skin. Rosy the riveter tattoo on her arm. A girl that ran with the wrong crowd. But it wasn't her fault. Her Daddy taught her. She had told him pretty much everything. He was good at that could get people to talk. Share their secrets. It was a curse. No one knew his. Except, well, that didn't matter. She had drank, alot. Him not so much. He knew he needed some kind of clarity. And she talked. Then they fucked. Then she slept. She knew she was safe. And now he was here. 

'Hilfiger' was obviously becoming very annoyed. He had been watching 'Hilfiger' and Ashley, 'Skittles' to her clients, for a week. He had seen how 'Hilfiger' had pushed Ashley around. Used her, took her money. Though he had money of his own. From the cocaine. Nothing big, a little better than a street level dealer, but nothing big. 

He pulled his fists out of his pockets, brass knuckles in place. "How ironic" he thought as he drew near and could see 'Hilfiger's' neck tattoo. Brass knuckles with diamonds mounted in the holes. "P-Town Hustler" in cursive below. 

"MATT" he yelled, 'Hilfiger turned, exposing the curve of his jaw. Everything went black. 

The black Coupe De' Ville pulled to a stop on the gravel. The rain had let up. It was more drizzle now. 

The leather of the jacket groaned against the leather of the front seat as he lifted himself up, out of the car. 

He walked back to the trunk, inserted the keys and it popped open. The small light lit up and illuminated the trunks interior. Black carpet. Rubber trunk mat embossed with the Cadillac crest. A Rockford Fosgate amp. A speaker box with a gaudy pair of twelve’s. And two black duffel bags. 

He zipped one open. Bricks of cocaine. He opened the other. Stacks of cash. "This will last me a couple of months" Closing the zipper he picked it up and threw it over his shoulder. He knew this sealed 'Hilfiger's' fate, but he didn't care. 'Hilfiger' was trash. 

He walked over to the side of the gravel road, into the forest. A full red, plastic gas can waited. He retrieved it and walked back to the car. Soaking the trunk and duffel of coke, he slammed the trunk lid closed. He then soaked the driver’s seat and threw the can in. He removed his leather gloves. Threw them in. Took his cigarette pack and water proof matchbox from his inside pocket. He fished a cigarette out and replaced the pack in his pocket. He struck a match, a puff of sulfur and it crackled alive. The flame touched the tip of the cigarette and he puffed deep. He held the match for a second and thought about the world. He tossed the match in the car, as the gas soaked leather burst into flame he thought to himself, "God, I love watching it burn".

http://brickthegunsolitaryman.blogspot.com/2015/07/hilfiger.html?m=1

[brickthegun]

I'm just a vampire. A leech. I suck the life from everyone. Everything.

[brickthegun]

Your fucking me up girl.