self running away ary, blurry eyed. explicative delete delete. spa steam and thick fog. deer smashing up your Dodge windshield. the gimmick is the cereal box prize. this is your diet. depressed pillow talk. slipped your fingers into the fan blades, your day was not happy. sit and stare for answers. you have to wait ten more years. listen, you’re not a college boy. do you regret that? don’t talk to me about what I regret. she says through the megaphone how she hates men. I think she hates herself for setting herself up so badly. I remember when you would wear too much army fatigues and get too hot and then you’d have to take them off again. that’s not good.
it’s just getting bad. so many jobs and lifetimes – I’m speaking to the dead within myself. I sat down in the floor’s middle which is dipped like an old bed, and spoke up to the ceiling everything to do with my taxes, how I’ve been good this year and expect good things to happen to me. I spoke everything to do with the motor cross races and the stamp collection of only upside down flags and what use I’m getting out of it. send the unnamed milkman away, why have him around? this guy draws pictures of spinach and tries to eat it. started out doing it on a dare but found out he really liked it. the spinach trees uprooted and shoved into his mouth give that sense of superiority. women like men who can rip up trees and kill bugs and run faster than cheetahs and not talk math all the time. dance slow and speak only the heartfelt. that will get you along. treat others like you treat yourself. treat others to what you know. the weather is getting bad. it will rain a bit but get hotter and the next thing you know we’ll be shaking hands with the sun. the sun will have us in a goddamn headlock. global warming my ass. how about global incineration? what then will we set our clocks to?
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