got my wyrds back?

[scopegate]

reading this journal,
I feel little or no
connection with
the person who wrote most of these words-
it's as though our dear Countess is
all juiced up on brine and wood alcohol,
bitter frozed in the middle of some
sub-Saharan cold snap.
they've killed all the best barbers
and there's no
warning mouse in the spinifex,
so she'll likely have to send to heaven
for help.