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Mere Nothing

We rode into a hurricane and split into ribbons;
only a few things survived:

A piece of an egg as it touched the water.
A feather in the breath of a madman.
An unnecessary amount of blankets.
A body and a box. A riding crop.
An ejaculation pointed at somebody's wife.
A corpse packed with salt.

You're funny, no really, fuck you. No really. I will and then FUCK YOU.

God, I suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

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Ahhhh (as in a sigh), one small latte please and the LAST FUCKING croissant SCOOoOoOoORE.

Two words: OUT OF CONTROL.

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Sober. Replaced a red light in the corner with a white one. The blue lamp is upright again. I moved the blankets to the other side of the room. Last night I walked home with a pair of mint green briefs in my vest pocket: barely a consolation prize. I get the best telephone reception when lying in the middle of the floor. The light in the yellow ( Read more... )

The ends of my braids are dripping. Cereal rules!

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Two Asian girls, both with animal head hats, standing withing five feet of each other. Pho. Everything made it home, even the porkbunz. What is my life? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! Bad things, bad habits, bad news. All over again. Apple slice in the Bali Shag in the snack-sized Ziploc ( Read more... )