Slice the skin off my dick and point me off into the goddamned world and my body will float along with power, with strength, with amusement. Except you're not away, just hiding from the hole you've been digging around yourself since the moment you got born by pure chance where you landed in the waiting hands of a dude (or woman) waiting to get paid. Sometimes with the punched clock demands and caffeine energy, you can ignore the real, and stagger through the days, keeping the creditors from leaving computer-generated messages on your voicebox while-you're-away machine. I heard the hum but deprive myself of sleep to the point I haven't dreamed in eight years. Hits and clicks and ones and zeros, world spinning through wi-fi behind fifteen minute heroes. Minutes turn to hours turn to days turn to waste, and I wonder how I got stuck in this cluttered up space called myself. ![]() ![]() Afraid of a world spinning crooked so I'm rural, where the words clog my head painting picture perfect murals, but my fingers and tongue get stuck on specifics, like the proper positioning and my broke ass linguistics. Feeling the microwave whisper buzzing behind my ear, but the alcohol intake inhibits my fear. Zines were my thing, now I'm in the blogosphere constantly clicking on refresh, hoping the end is near.
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