we did laundry last night! i was happy to push it to monday because that made thanksgiving weekend into date weekend. see, little miss lovely (insert roger hargreaves character icon) & i met on thanksgiving, just about a decade ago. we also had ourselves a fairly major break-up, so the holiday isn't all roses. or is it? as the wyld stallyns say, every rose has its thorn. regardless, it isn't a high holiday of our romance, but it sure was nice to go out to dinner & to a movie. i'll take a little wine with my cheese, thanks. now is the workaday-- everyone is gone to the southland, leaving me & a few stalwarts here to generate work for ourselves. i've kept fairly busy-- i just threw a bunch of stuff away, & yesterday i did a slew of work skullduggery.
so i can look out from my window in the flatiron & see the chrysler building turning into gold. how is that for witnessing some great work? gotham alchemy win. don't mind if i do. in fact the whole city is build on the bedrock of philosopher's stone. so i'll just tidy up here, put on my jacket & step into the network of underground tunnels that wind & twist dark. i'll ride a night train through to where i live, & who knows what i'll do with the rest of my night. i've got plenty to chose from. took lunch in a park filled with treeforts. don't mind if i do. raise high the lantern that sheds the night. minas morgul here i am. better than a smoking car crash in the wasteland. you fight your orcs, i'll rule my drow.
cut your hands. & that is the lucky charm i've told you around the campfire tonight. you bring me sticks & logs & build this fire outside my cave. sometimes you bring your singers & they sing for me. & sometimes i bring my rough halo & i rough halo for you. when they say your name to take power over you, you gain power over them. i spool out another dweomer over cups of water flavored by soaked black beans. crawl on your belly, from a bird to a snake. you used to bring your pretty birds, tied up in wooden bundles, & they would sing for me. i can't promise i remember it exactly how it happened-- i'm more inside than i am outside, & outside i'm everywhere. maybe you used to have language, crops, maybe before i burnt them all up with the forge of hangin' around. should i have ate the pregnant lamb or shouldn't i? why don't you climb up the plinth & sing me a song, bird? or you could walk up the stairs shedding blood. i know how it goes. the stitches will hurt, & you'll be afraid of them. but you sew your guts up with plenty of broken glass & spiders & you go to the lines. did you know a carat is equal to a carob seed? maybe you did. come sit in my teeth & pick them clean, little bird, flutterbye. come on i'll kill you, common common. did you see the nothing deer? in the nothing forest? did you did you?
it isn't particularly a new scar. starts before the beginning & ends post-coda. so you gotta buck up, chum. what are you going to do when this chicory beer disappears, in a gulp or two? you've got a nice warm wife in the other room all come to put the moving in the darkness on the waters back inside the mechanics. you're just back in the doppler, everything shifting as it gets closer or further away. wish you weren't colour blind. shadow facing the floor. shooting stars making like elvis, washed up bodies turning up in the strangest places. wolves in the pumpkin patch, mouthfuls of stringy orange guts. you keep talking about guts like you are mishima. you could win a goldfish at the carnival, though, come on out of your dark little yurt, your glyptodon hut. wash your dirty hair! get the ashes off your face. black out the buffalo on the wall. only draw the destroyer!