June 2nd, 2006

broken face

i'm the question, bitch, not daddy warbucks!

& the thing about it is that the fucking things are hollow! the fucking rubes. but what does a black haloed little me fucking know? no no, spend all your inky krugerrands on the relic spaceships to fly your little lost souls home. but i'm just whistling dixie here, motherfuckers, i've never been over the secret fucking plans time & time again. so don't take my word for it, heavens fucking forbid you do something smart for a fucking change. not that you can't feel the pulse in my thumb thrumming like a hornet where it presses on your neck. i'm sure you've maybe gotten the impression that i'm excitable & maybe you should have thought about that before you went & pressed the fucking button, don't you think? no you don't think & hell neither do i sometimes! i'm as thoughtless as the best of bodhisattvas! but right now i'm thinking really hard if there is any decent reason to let the sun rise tommorow. don't mind the stars in the sky exploding like firecrackers, don't you let it influence your calm & steady hand at the tiller o captain my captain! p.s. i can see you in your nightgown when you sleep!
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