For Derek.

[unburiable]

Only barely marginal lines separate me now from the things I've taken to most, so it isn't as though I have to turn myself completely around to get a little lost. In fact, the house I've lived in for so many years now is beginning to seem a stretch for me, and I must carry blueprints of the design to guide myself from Point A to the next. When

Comments

stop posting long stories. try to write about your day, like a normal person.

[foreignpetals]

"I'm off in search of a postal receiver, and then to meet with a young lady I met yesterday at the funeral parlor." and what the goddamn christ is this supposed to be, "corpse on shut the shit up"? What was all this "Germans are a great lay" talk? IMPOSTOR! don't ever talk to me again, ever, ever, never, nurver, hetero.

Derek.

Pigeons write the filthiest love notes.

[unburiable]

Look, Derek. I know things have been sort of on edge for you lately, and this whole thing about Frederick losing a foot while mixing paint thinner in the garage isn't helping you out much, but there's really no reason to take it out on me. You're just projecting, and it's making your face look all scrunched up. You know, if I were you, I would stay as far away from the electric computer as possible and just fucking enjoy the countryside over there. Did you visit the Frumpie Discoteque yet? It's going to be fucking amazing, man. Trust me. Send me back a used condom or something to let me know you're doing all right. Oh, and some Mentos.

Just try to dig it, rocker. Fuck all the rest of that Nazi loyalist American Flag shit. The day I kiss a flag for dropping it in the mud is the day I stop throwing rocks at the police station across from Park Ave CDs.

Take is easy,
Frederick's roommate The Jam.