the meaning of life, now with more protein.
crime does pay, but it also turns your hair a mangy shade of orange; stuff me in a cocoon & call me a larva, my mind is set on escape & the switch is broken.
spent yesterday walking around in zombie regalia climbing on top of taxis & scaring children. why don't i do this every day. makeup artists looked like 12 year old boys & it was even funnier to hear them calling for "uh can we get a bigger blood please, yes, needs more blood." brought in super stylish pig heads stuffed with beef brains & covertly watched people snack on them. no one in this city will acknowledge a zombie til it starts climbing on one's car & gnawing on one's head, i remarked to one extremely patriotic zombie [uncle sam wants you--& YOUR BRAINS] that looking for a brain to eat in the lower east side was like looking for the holy grail in a high school locker room as we shambled up ludlow street looking menace-shaped dogs in the eye trying to get our bloodbath on. ZOMBIES NEVER APOLOGIZE so where the fuck are my BRAINS at. i'm not a fiend crook i'll just cook your book like it's asparagus, friends, countrymen, lend me your BRAINS
because not frying my brain with toxic chemicals is not an option my hair is first brown then orange-cat-mange-shade then black again & well from the smell of some of this shit my neurons are neons & playing bumper cars in there. but hey if i'm bionic i'm prepared for anything, i am a bomb & this is my shelter, i'll blow your fucking house down. covered half of one wall in tinfoil because it's cheaper than mirrors & easier to remove than spraypaint when i have to be scraped out of here by viscous landlords eager to cash in on the williamsburg-is-the-next-manhattan phenomenonsense. the circus came to town twice, thursday and friday, but thursday was a mess & a ripoff & friday was me almost kicking through a window because my violin had been conveniently locked up when we were supposed to pied-piper the overstuffed crowd upstairs into some of the sleek downstairs hallways in a blaze of glory? & well no guts no glory & someone almost became guts, was raging mad & metal-shoed so. fucking lock up your failures, kids, what have i told you about leaving the oven on & not immediately crawling inside
no man's an island but i'm not a man i'm a free number. she sells suicide by the seashore. i am constantly inches away from panic even when i'm falling asleep in the courtroom. ideally i'd never sleep again because every time i wake up i feel like there's a train driving through my face but i suspect i am confusing the problem & the solution, & forgetting to add the solvent, & watching the whole thing blow up in my living room. killing you loudly because that's how i do everything. screaming yourself hoarse saying I CAN'T FIND MY MIND HAS ANYONE SEEN MY MIND oh silly girl it's in your head. no it wasn't there last time i checked seriously. i might have misplaced it ok i hope no one stole it wait a second i bet it was one of you ok everyone get the fuck out of my house
THERE IS NO LONGER ANY SUCH THING AS A BAD IDEA.