NICK STOLLE DOT ORG

WORDS

JUNE 6, 2021

We didn’t got bad
But then we don’t often good
I guess we ain’t good

Oh, that which might change us still
Is enough, is enough, yeah

No, it is not sufficient
Oh, I am wary of the change it will bring

We’re not so bad
We just get busy, we’re busy

Oh, I don’t know what we becomes

 

JUNE 5, 2021

This isn’t that, this is only this.
You isn’t me, you is only you.
And I can’t see my own hands.
I can’t be my own man.

Him isn’t right, him is only wrong.
She isn’t mine, she’s a pretty song.
And I don’t know anything.
I can’t go, I have to stay.

 

JUNE 4, 2021

It doesn’t need be got like this
It got be could really a lot of options
One of which the one that is
The one that ain’t could well
Not then not could realistically be not what isn’t also

But should the need for this one go that way
Yeah yeah I think that really it could if it had to
It could
But we’ll play it by ear we’ll play it by ear

So for now you get into the hot place
The muggy place
And put on all your clothes
And you just die in them
So just die in them
Your scratchy woolen clothes
Anf that’s what that will be

So don’t ever try to negotiate another avenue
Because you really need to choose your lane and stick inside
Just stick it deep inside
The moist the hot the sqush the kush
The slop slop plop plop
So stick it stick it stick it

 

JUNE 3, 2021

Yes, your guts are inside,
and they got holes inside.
They become like sponges, like reefs, crannies, a network, a universe.

And you’re blown up.
You’re enlarged via some process.
And we will walk hand in hand throughout you.

Down the ancient, labrynthian lime-brick roads,
the mucous slick wetstone lanes,
of your twisty, gloppy, touristy, sloppy, bubblegum poppy,
knotted up tummy.

 

JUNE 2, 2021

Gimme that girl with the pretty yellow hair. She’s a mother, she’s a daddy, she gonna gimme her underwear.

Gimme that girl with the prettiest green eyes. She’s a singer, hard worker, she’s got syrup on her thighs.

Oh, gimme, gimme girl, how about you gimme all your stuff? It’s not fair, it’s not fair to you, cuz I can’t get enough.

 

JUNE 1, 2021

I get it, I do.
I don’t get it, I don’t.

 

MAY 26, 2021

I put it in front of you and then I hide behind the corner. And then you eat it. And then I emerge, and we embrace, and then you decide. You decide if you want to spit it at my feet, or shit it in a rag and keep it with you always, and show it around, and disseminate my blood, my body. And in this manner, plinko my intentions through time.

And I am loved.
And I am loved.
And I am loved.

 

MAY 25, 2021

Right beside you, I feel like you.

But I ain’t you, and you ain’t you.

 

MAY 24, 2021

A lime popsicle, a sad reminder of Grandma summer.

Renovating a derelict old house. My mom’s step-father’s daughter’s husband looked so much like Eric Clapton. With the dark glasses. He was so sad.

Grandma was fond of him, always, though he was an alcoholic.

She spoke very plainly to us. A stabbing at Christmas, the ghosts she had seen.

She would fill a little notebook with row after row of curly-cues. She would write the name of an unfortunate relation, and she would underline it several times.

 

MAY 23, 2021

I’m a real nice guy. I treat everything real nice.

Now, you people in this room, I don’t know you so well. But I hope you know me well enough to know that I’m real nice. Real nice guy.

And we real nice guys, we don’t do this for our health. We don’t walk around being real nice because it gives us a warm feeling in our tummies.

No.

 

MAY 22, 2021

I have a perfect sound that I make.
It’s a soft cry, it’s a honky fart, it’s a tinny squee.
I’ve probably made it for you.
It’s not necessarily for anyone specific,
But it’s never just for me.

I don’t have to make it, but I do.
It’s just this sound that I make.

I learned to shape this sound,
This sissy holler, this syrupy sniff, this Miami bass cassette,
Over centuries of dumb mumbles,
Gurgling bile into other people’s faces,
Gauging their reaction,
Bending it a little this way or that.
And now it’s never wrong, this perfect sound that I make.

I know how to do it,
And you know how to do it, too!

 

MAY 21, 2021

Should I ever become
Fucked up, flat out, deadass backwards,
With no one to sit me down.

Should I ever find myself
Ears ringing, sweat on my neck, unable to walk a straight line.

See, there’s me and there’s you. You ever go to the end?

Can’t. Won’t. Yet will, you know how to get in line. Go lie in the hole.

I never did believe. Belief. I’m not full enough.

Piss it all away. Hurry up get hungry. Put this inside of that.

Oh, I don’t ever want to go. I don’t believe I can. When you go
You gone.

Don’t you try to tell me that we ain’t animals.

 

MAY 20, 2021

All of these nights,
I don’t never know which season is coming.

We all know, I suppose, the most expeditious routes to get to
The places we said we wanted to go.

Careful with words like all, never, all, know, most.

They make you examine the narratives you only ever offered because silence hits different when there’s someone else there.

It’s a closed thing, I suppose. For the life of me.

Locked up, cash dropped.

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is gone. Today is gone.