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I don’t write anymore. It’s the noises that get to me. The silences are kind. Wasted papier-mâché demon babies. I didn’t make them. Someone’s hands must be wet. Some kind of bleeding. Guilt can’t be washed off with sanitation. It’s a mockery of May. Perhaps would be a better excuse. Who knew water could remember? You’d say. But they always would. Semester girls flock and prey. I wear Hard Rock in indigo but that’s naked in code. Alias mistake. Her mystique, if I may. Just when eyes are closed and light comes again. She thought I said strangers; I meant aliens today. He wears blond like a girl, like blonde. E is for Elinore. A dream of density that sank the day she sang. The fat laday’s revolutionary diet plan. Scary thing is, this one works. No one believes oracles that aren’t blind. So Odin walks the paths, wondering what to do with his other eye. Pain suggests impalement. Implements include an ear cushion, an ear-pick, an earwig. Surely you mean cottonbudcherrysundae? I can make your raspberry swirl babay. Blame the truth. And the phantoms are still out there. Dreams that never finish. Even when it’s time for the wake. Some call it the end. I believe there’s more to be continued. Let me tell you a story…

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Current Mood: Talkative.
Current Music:

• Bent Leg Fatima – Mouse/Lone Gunner
• Blue Meanies – Sucker
• Pavement – We Are Underused

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Credits: Artwork by Walter Crane.