after walloping down the stairs, and walloping up them again, i fell back into december… “my mother birthed me far too soon…” feel those lps scratching out your eyesockets, boy. but, damn, that fellow has a sweetly disposing sideways smile and his 12-stringer really strums allways.
still, there are some catacombs that even cagliostro would go out of his way to avoid. were it up to me, but it’s not. that’s so. cheese on tomato. yes. take that, goatmonkey! (eat your filthy italy smirking in the daylight and keep the shadows from out your hands: we don’t trust ’em)
is that some sort of chill on the hands as the sun goes down? still, that invisibility seems to be holding up strong: note taken: there was that old crankster (with the wooden amber-topped cane/what symbol was that emblazoned there? avert avert!) scrabbling after everyone for attention or money or cigarillos. ignored me once, twice, thrice. i was staring at traffic lights and that weird pollen sculpture to put it generously…
bookend as i was on both sides by that madman and that madwoman, scabbered she was. and that handkerchief man only started lerping in my ear once that quaintcher set herself down in my only empty seat. )12?( but only seemingly. and that man’s boy fresh-returned from the desert.
still, that yang makes my skin tense. and i’m wondering what she’s doin’ thar. not up to chatting with a forble. plenty of empty ones, yet she’s sitting in mine.
but that quashing noise only happened later, she followed me even there, burrowing underground, i escaped that plane and swarsaparillad beneath, grouched into a corner.
later, the wreckers that i couldn’t remember. now.
someday soon, i’ve been feeling: “strange how the ears ring…after a night of wrongdoing?” and who is that blue lady, after all? all that’s left is a sense of something coming….
can’t remember how it all shaked down, after.