salt & leper.
TALK TO THE PROSTHESIS, BABY--sweet nothings, sour ears
make no mistake [that's my job] i'll always feel like a million dollars. pre-spent. i am the AFTERMATH of a million dollars. useful only if you're the type to peer furtively into the cracked windows of trains after they've veered tragically into a shitload of concrete a la high times at malbone st. yeah we're still alive & kicking in here, though WHAT we're kicking? is classified information
[hint/disinfo deluxe: IT KICKS BACK]
line my shelves with red herrings. the best defense is a good question mark. memory is the star of the blackhole-lookalike contest & it's reached unacceptable levels really. if i could remember more of the day before than whatever unruly slivers creep into my feet as i walk across do-not-disturb floors i wouldn't turn around on new year's day & be like hey 2007 where'd you go, where was i. because my dear you know EXACTLY where you were, or at least the approximate zipcode. "well?" "can we take a commercial break?" the interview subject seems to have disappeared, i wonder where we can find her! keep getting double & triple takes from people who don't recognize me then fall all over themselves trying to cover up, something's rotten in the altered state of denmark, i hope it's the floor, it's about time to test flight capacity
THEN it was all fun & games til someone almost lost an eye & that was me, sudden angry red planet almost requiring an eyepatch during the ryder pales show which would have been hideously tacky but red alert? could the universe BE any more obvious? yes i can take a hint i just choose to leave it, it'll get stepped on sooner or later. land? mine! possession is 9/10ths of the law & the other 10th is probably waiting in a dark alley with something big & scary so i say take the 9/10ths & quit while you're ahead or BE quit while you're lagging behind all drool & pathos. if you're lucky you might get an exorcism--"gee, mommie, just what i always wanted!"
make no mistake [that's my job] i'll always feel like a million dollars. pre-spent. i am the AFTERMATH of a million dollars. useful only if you're the type to peer furtively into the cracked windows of trains after they've veered tragically into a shitload of concrete a la high times at malbone st. yeah we're still alive & kicking in here, though WHAT we're kicking? is classified information
[hint/disinfo deluxe: IT KICKS BACK]
line my shelves with red herrings. the best defense is a good question mark. memory is the star of the blackhole-lookalike contest & it's reached unacceptable levels really. if i could remember more of the day before than whatever unruly slivers creep into my feet as i walk across do-not-disturb floors i wouldn't turn around on new year's day & be like hey 2007 where'd you go, where was i. because my dear you know EXACTLY where you were, or at least the approximate zipcode. "well?" "can we take a commercial break?" the interview subject seems to have disappeared, i wonder where we can find her! keep getting double & triple takes from people who don't recognize me then fall all over themselves trying to cover up, something's rotten in the altered state of denmark, i hope it's the floor, it's about time to test flight capacity
THEN it was all fun & games til someone almost lost an eye & that was me, sudden angry red planet almost requiring an eyepatch during the ryder pales show which would have been hideously tacky but red alert? could the universe BE any more obvious? yes i can take a hint i just choose to leave it, it'll get stepped on sooner or later. land? mine! possession is 9/10ths of the law & the other 10th is probably waiting in a dark alley with something big & scary so i say take the 9/10ths & quit while you're ahead or BE quit while you're lagging behind all drool & pathos. if you're lucky you might get an exorcism--"gee, mommie, just what i always wanted!"