self asphyxiation, slowly
I\’m prepared to finally admit my bad back is probably due to my insistence on curling up most nights on a sagging couch. The tightness in my chest and the chronic bronchitis of late is no doubt down to the plentiful supply of counterfeit cigarettes. Ditto the occasional stabbing pains in my ankles.
After reading Beer\’s \”Bundled Up In Blankets\”, and the entertaining banter running back and forth between himself and Jon, I will add this.
When I go I want it to be with both hands around the neck of the f@cker pointing the gun.
It occurs to me, however, that it may prove impractical to hope to exert sufficient pressure in a stranglehold and hold on to a firearm at one and the same time.
▼ DAVID CROSBY: LAUGHING from \”If Only I Could Remember My Name\” LP (Atlantic) 1971 (US)