a smacktail of two cities.
good advice from bad people: don't go crazy unless you're sure you know the way back. cross my mind & hope to die. someone stuck a needle in my eye but i swear it wasn't mine, officer
semiconscious in a series of rooms is no way to spend the future, & the slippery-slope argument is possibly the last i'll ever have with myself--heartfelt philosophical extremes beating each other within inches of their lives for weeks, then i start swearing Never Again, then "again" happens, regular as clockwork & probably more so given my propensity for melting clocks & breaking watches. i know it's all in my head, but so am i. the snake choked on its tail a long time ago & we have yet to dispose of the body. please select a gravesite after the beep.
i made my decision quite some time ago, lit up in helpful neon against a cosmetically-darkened night sky for your viewing pleasure & if you missed the public announcement i still wear it on my sleeve 24/7, not even necessarily of my own volition! your unwillingness to SEE the writing on/off the wall is more of an affectation than anything in the sold-out braille arena, but everyone wears sunglasses these days so slipping under the radar is as easy as 123blastoff. groundcontrol is on an eternal lunch break, though it never seems to eat lunch, hope you know how to pilot that thing. spending too much time by myself is guaranteed to skew a few perspectives, not all of them mine, & without practice i'm absent the requisite pack of lies to deny everything. blame it on the weather, blame subway delays, blame the economy. a whole 52-card deck of blame. i'll need every single one by the time this is over. there is a science to Giving Up, & also an art. "guess which one gets laid more often." van gogh's ear was quickly repackaged & sold as a sex toy--EARotica. you know you want some.
then every time i interview for a job the whole meeting falls flat on its face by which time i'm already mentally half out the door to avoid the semisweet sorrows of parting. it's all fun & games til your own adventure chooses you, especially out of a police lineup. i mean they said make something of myself, A Mess seemed only natural! it's my CALLING. nothing new here: distancing myself from reality by cloaking it in stilted terms associated more with hideous outofcontrol science projects than human emotion, because, as a star delusion-architect i feel it's my duty to accomplish this with as many unnecessary flourishes as i can get away with. & then some. because, the more the merrier. cultivating disasters for company. someone snap me out of this please.
[not to mention, again: "oh you've lost weight!" sorry that was just my mind it ran out to play in traffic & never came back i think it got abducted by FAILiens can i interest you in some of this nice supple cult literature really it doesn't bite i promise ok no come back some other time with, like, money. no i don't want to talk about it, no i don't want to talk, can't you just talk to yourself like everyone else]
semiconscious in a series of rooms is no way to spend the future, & the slippery-slope argument is possibly the last i'll ever have with myself--heartfelt philosophical extremes beating each other within inches of their lives for weeks, then i start swearing Never Again, then "again" happens, regular as clockwork & probably more so given my propensity for melting clocks & breaking watches. i know it's all in my head, but so am i. the snake choked on its tail a long time ago & we have yet to dispose of the body. please select a gravesite after the beep.
i made my decision quite some time ago, lit up in helpful neon against a cosmetically-darkened night sky for your viewing pleasure & if you missed the public announcement i still wear it on my sleeve 24/7, not even necessarily of my own volition! your unwillingness to SEE the writing on/off the wall is more of an affectation than anything in the sold-out braille arena, but everyone wears sunglasses these days so slipping under the radar is as easy as 123blastoff. groundcontrol is on an eternal lunch break, though it never seems to eat lunch, hope you know how to pilot that thing. spending too much time by myself is guaranteed to skew a few perspectives, not all of them mine, & without practice i'm absent the requisite pack of lies to deny everything. blame it on the weather, blame subway delays, blame the economy. a whole 52-card deck of blame. i'll need every single one by the time this is over. there is a science to Giving Up, & also an art. "guess which one gets laid more often." van gogh's ear was quickly repackaged & sold as a sex toy--EARotica. you know you want some.
then every time i interview for a job the whole meeting falls flat on its face by which time i'm already mentally half out the door to avoid the semisweet sorrows of parting. it's all fun & games til your own adventure chooses you, especially out of a police lineup. i mean they said make something of myself, A Mess seemed only natural! it's my CALLING. nothing new here: distancing myself from reality by cloaking it in stilted terms associated more with hideous outofcontrol science projects than human emotion, because, as a star delusion-architect i feel it's my duty to accomplish this with as many unnecessary flourishes as i can get away with. & then some. because, the more the merrier. cultivating disasters for company. someone snap me out of this please.
[not to mention, again: "oh you've lost weight!" sorry that was just my mind it ran out to play in traffic & never came back i think it got abducted by FAILiens can i interest you in some of this nice supple cult literature really it doesn't bite i promise ok no come back some other time with, like, money. no i don't want to talk about it, no i don't want to talk, can't you just talk to yourself like everyone else]