what else
oh yeah, up here, wondering if I can push for another hour and a half; at 6 AM my friends will be smiling in Pasadena awaiting the rose parade. I've never seen it and I've seen sleep.
Driving home through thick, futuristic fog; paced yellow lights and double white beams, white red yellow green, only those colors. a limo emerges. it's like we were all put in a big pot of batter and we're all being stirred and once in a while something floats by you, like the limo.
on the dot I jumped on the couch with an old friend yelling screaming myself hoarse all the things I want to do this year. and will do i climbed into my friend's bed and pulled the comforter up to my eyes. from the couch across from me, the boy in the blue top hat says fondly "i think even if we weren't told to celebrate this holiday, we all would. even if society wasn't shoving it down our throats." in front of me, a drag queen saunters by, sees me staring out of the bed with only my eyes exposed, and squeals, sits beside me. he's grown his hair out long and straight and it looks healthier than mine. I touched it earlier in the night, "plugs? extensions?" "all mine," he said demurely. I've known him since he was spiky haired and reading poems after school that went like "long hot sex in the back of a lex." and when he agreed to fight me on my 18th birthday, when I was feeling shitty.
I don't know if I can make the push. I'm trying to think of a nice, layered, thought-provoking statement. All I can recall is one of the nicest parts of the evening, sitting with my friend Funk, as Top Blue Hat asked her "so what do you want to say to people as a performance artist?" "well," she said slowly, "that I am here and you are too." "...okay fine, but what else?"
Driving home through thick, futuristic fog; paced yellow lights and double white beams, white red yellow green, only those colors. a limo emerges. it's like we were all put in a big pot of batter and we're all being stirred and once in a while something floats by you, like the limo.
on the dot I jumped on the couch with an old friend yelling screaming myself hoarse all the things I want to do this year. and will do i climbed into my friend's bed and pulled the comforter up to my eyes. from the couch across from me, the boy in the blue top hat says fondly "i think even if we weren't told to celebrate this holiday, we all would. even if society wasn't shoving it down our throats." in front of me, a drag queen saunters by, sees me staring out of the bed with only my eyes exposed, and squeals, sits beside me. he's grown his hair out long and straight and it looks healthier than mine. I touched it earlier in the night, "plugs? extensions?" "all mine," he said demurely. I've known him since he was spiky haired and reading poems after school that went like "long hot sex in the back of a lex." and when he agreed to fight me on my 18th birthday, when I was feeling shitty.
I don't know if I can make the push. I'm trying to think of a nice, layered, thought-provoking statement. All I can recall is one of the nicest parts of the evening, sitting with my friend Funk, as Top Blue Hat asked her "so what do you want to say to people as a performance artist?" "well," she said slowly, "that I am here and you are too." "...okay fine, but what else?"