Robert Emmett Hosty Jr. in his own words

-sunjet

Okay well, so I;m just going to freewrite here on acount of me acting like an illiterate boob for the past month and a half. Rather than the comfortable stream of thoughts i had been building up; themes i had thought meaningful and stackable, i've been getting sludge. Ah, the mash at the bottom of the barrell. The other day i was thinking about a blues song centered around the character of a 'sloppy messiah'. I was so damn tickled with the sound and feeling of those words in combination I just kept repeating them to myself at random points in the day so as not to forget. Apparently I burned them into my brain. Thanks a bundle, July.

Plans generate an unlikely combination of panic and overeargernes in me. I've struggled to find work as a painter this summer, yet in my -wide as the plains before the white-man free-time- I've yet to come together with this machine and make up a business card. I can't seem to commit to a name. Insert John Donne or Keats or whomever it was that meantioned to austere frivolty of a name. Oh, was it Shakespeare? ..could a rose by any other name smell so sweet?

Big Willy... they were right to bury you in that cadillac coffin.

Perhaps a spirit guide would be of some utility. I think I will start talking to the dead again. My grandpa has watched over me most of my life but there have been vast chapters for which the pages were not cut open with that silver letter opener.

Aside: Do they even print books with the pages still bound together anymore?

I can't sit still out here anymore. The sun is slide across the fireescape/deck and I am all but squeezed up against the shaded wall of my building. I love living in a brownstone. Tally ho bitches.

-Loved ones and the rocks that I love

So what if time is limited? Sometimes when you close your face to inspect for damage you find thoughts have leaked out, they've evaded filtration over such common rocks and pebbles. They are an immutable tide. Triggers made of impounded sediment, so smooth as to conceit the clean formation of their violent birth. Grains laid upon grooves and hollow spaces filled unwittingly, invaded by sleeping conquererers. I hasten to use the term rape. For rocks are rocks, and one cannot impose such disdainful malice of intent. Though, as I let my fingers tender over the rocks I have gifted to beloved friends, I feel my thumb slip into a place I still withold as earnest and waylaid as some extravagant gasp of a wave I have not collided or chested or ducked beneath. The force of friendship and rocks carries depth so true as to make a man take to sea. His only craft his body. He is only body, but body only

love,

rob.

-fruit loops on fire!

--Don't listen to this. You will never listen to this, but i'm telling it as truth. You're divine, I promise. Other people promise, too.

--Fine, I'm not listening. I won't ever listen, I refuse you. Your version of truth.

A pinwheel dart in the missing scale of Chicago, I saw you twirl and laugh in defiant reverence to that mawkish alibaster alter of ego and poetry. The best part was made up, conjured and clapping in rythym, oh!intoxicating, we hardly notice the flashing. It haram's the senses, making sweet and forlorn the capture of the eye, so vulnerable, searching. Where the fuck was that coming from? Was she a secret there, hidden in such bald exhibition? Nay, no vice but the only vice. Living in her breath, now.

I am so dearly dearly proud of you. All my love, Robert

-in4mayshun

Wikipedia sucks ass

-what it takes to sing honestly

So... Be who you are,

and laugh in the face, of your

self slipping away. You're back, back

at least for today!

-punctuated ditty (en stacatto)

Think I've tried to con-

tradict evry voice inside

of me since I was three, on my golden birth-

day, yeah, on my go_o_lden birth/day

P________________SSS

I was born on July 3. I am a cancer.. uh huh, yeah

blah

You know why it is that you do just what you do, cuz yeah you're fast as a bolt of linen, white-rolled-up-linen. You embrace that which defines you

most improved in US history

I want to lead a lyrical life; choose my struggles, vanish battles in a haze, look back and be amazed that I could've just given up the game but didn't, I couldn't, I would never give that away, just let another take my place. Yeah, it's because my life is mine and it's not already made. It's because I've still got today that I'm gonna keep my head up straight, And sit up on high, just relax and let my mind ease into place.

This is my smooth intelligence It's my way to not fade away I choose what choices I will make so I'm not thirsty and don't get played