LAWRY'S SEASONED SALT

Oh, I don't know. Lately, I've been hung up on Lawry's Seasoned Salt. I say it in my mind as I'm driving or walking down the street. "Lawry's Seasoned Salt". It's not that I'm even interested in it. It's just there, those words. I guess I briefly wondered who the hell Lawry was but that's about it. And I don't even use the shit. We have a big thing of it in the spice cabinet that's probably been there since we moved in here. It's probably filled with dead weevils. I can't listen to good music anymore. I listened to Elliot Smith last night with Jack Grace and he was way better than I remembered. That dude was John Lennon-good! But I don't need to listen to it. I don't need to listen to anything anymore. Everything gets in my way now. I have no desire to talk to hardly anyone anymore, even the people I enjoy talking to, unless they're able to make me laugh. I just want to laugh. Fuckin' make me laugh, motherfucker, or leave me the fuck alone! That's it, that's all I need from anyone. It's a lonely business, this life thing. But like I said, I think the painting is finally working. Something powerful is definitely starting to surface. And it's easy, calm. I'm even starting to gain a bit of control finally. I can take my time with it and not worry about it leaving me, vanishing. When I'm painting, I feel like I'm riding along in the mouth of a giant wale. But what does that even matter? It's just a way to pacify yourself. There's no difference between a great painter or musician and a really good office clerk. In the end, we all get cooked. Fried, steamed, stewed, roasted, baked, microwaved, bbq-d… Or hell, maybe you get eaten alive? But it's gonna happen. So then why do we even bother? What's another anything anymore at this point? Why write? Why paint? Why endure? Why is there the need for there to be anything more to it? Isn't whatever's already there in front of your eyes enough? Yeah, I don't know, man. Lawry's fucking Seasoned Salt baby! Why the hell not?