(no subject)

[monologues]

the city is full of this cloying sticky smell that wraps itself deviously around our calves and knuckles, making it difficult to move. my body is a bed of needles held together by a trip-tripping rabbit heart whose reverbation can be heard from miles away. there's no room for serious words like 'dignity' or 'poise'; as we spread ourselves as close to the ground as we can - anything to escape the rising air that laughs with every ascending inch. i spent the weekend poured into small spaces letting amplifiers reprogram &fill my faulty chest cavity, building a protective layer against small collisions.
i am a satellite and a pulse and above all else, an astonishingly prolific sweat-producing machine. dear mother nature: STOP IT.

p.s: monologues for words. ferociously for images. effective immediately.

--end--