June

Man, this is the pits. The worst of bad lucks is kicking my ass this month.

Bad luck on my car. The Beast. Piece a shit won’t start.

Fast American steel from a nineteen seventy-two brew piece a shit to you . . . when it starts. By the way, are all mechanics colluding thieves? Sure seems like it.

Bad luck on Chris’s car too. Hit ‘n run runners, if caught, should be left at the mercy of the been hit.

Bad luck on my taxes.

Immoral IRS money takers suffocators heart-attackers. Granted I like the fact that my trash doesn’t collect more trash behind my home. And I also like it that I have a flushing toilet, I can call 911, I have electricity/power,

paved roads, blah, blah, blah  ~  but,

I still wouldn’t mind helping out the gene pool by castrating and defecating

on a few of these number crunching government payroll crooks. Never forget, it’s the illusion of democracy.

Bad luck on my presumptuous back. Thinking it was young like in ’85 when I could carry the weight of the
horizon over my shoulders but today I tweaked a muscle first thing this morning as I was waking up . . . barely rolling over out of bed.

June really laid it on heavy.

Either bad luck on my bridge or my dentist hasn’t studied his craft well enough.

Seven times. 7 trips of going back & forth during my lunch hour to this numb skull for a bridge fitting. A bridge fitting!

Dumb ass.

Credit card companies same as legalized loan sharking.

Threatening my nerves once a month with their 24.98% Default APR up my what-a-what?

Bunch’a leeches!

And they want my business via soliciting? ~ What do my Italian amicos say, Vaffanculo!

Why are all the wrong people dead?

Why isn’t porno king of this here world?

Bad luck on the clothes dryer. It took a dump on us two days ago. Laundromat Sunday morning trips now. Sharing folding space with odd Angels.

If you really must know ~

it’s the older, shorter Salvadorean women who hog up the dryers with 80 lbs. worth of chonies and then the occasional tamale/corn on the cob/mystery meat taco street vendor walks by sticking his head in just to sell us on his hock.

A speeding ticket. A mixed up drive-thru order ~ I got someone else’s salad.

A stubbed toe on the door jamb. It's still throbbing.

An NSF $10.00 charge on my checking account. Like that’s gonna help me get afloat.

My glasses fell off my head and broke. There flies the cash away. It never ends.

I guess shit happens for a reason in its own calculated time but, alright already

cut the son a break over here. Fir Christ’s sake.

Bad luck on my wallet all the time. Never no money. Never no buying power.

Bad luck on my goddam irregular sleeping patterns too. Any little noise wakes me up at night and it happens pretty often.

I take sleeping pills to make sure I get a full night’s worth of rest but then my neighbors either fight or fuck too loudly and the pill loses its wonderful charm.

Bad luck on life,

the sneeze, and the Bible.

Well, maybe not all three. Just that 1.

I gotta tell you what’s right is right and cannabis made it alright.

It helped me keep everything suave and in perspective.

It helped me dance when the spotlights were on.

June ‘99
Victor Millan