to this day, i have no idea why jeremy was always shirtless.
a rag damp with gasoline or ether was always tucked into his ever-present roll of duct tape.
funny how there are no pictures of him in any of our year books.
though i swear i remember him signing mine, smirking and saying something about
"thanks for my sister".
but i don't have a sister anymore, she's long gone, swallowed by the dirt
in some backlit mexico swarming with tambourines & burros & 3 legged hilarious dogs (well, some of them).
it's obvious now why lewis & clark didn't discover australia.
but that's from my unpublished thesis, so we'll have to talk about something else -- at least until the girls get back from the bath room....
did you see the dagger magnets on that floozie messiah by the jukebox?
she's a trouble sandwich, or that's what stupid steve-o said.
thank you for forgetting my birthday last week, since no one noticed, that means i can stay this age again... right?
(how old am i in this story? note to self: brush up on meatspace dossier asap)
i see the tornado alarm is going off & john phillip souza is masturbating a zebra with a foghorn's leghorn.
obviously the meds no longer work & neither do i.
how long can i eat my reflection from the wavy mouth of the pond in the park?
they don't even see me -- i'm some leper raccoon to them in my workshirt boot suit.
ah, but what the hell - right?
the fuckin' barbecue tarp's full of ragged angels & now that i've muted gideon i fear that mother mary's in for a slow ride to babylon shackled to the seat of my pants, where she repents & i never relent.
she must learn.
i would damn her but it's already done.
she'll never be human again forevermore.