if you struggle, turn to page 13.
if you allow it to penetrate you, turn to page 27.
i feel like i am discovering all kinds of layers in exsistance. more than just that spectral phantasmagory i'm always walking through. sort of a psa "did you know" kind of life is what i've got, but of course its all fight clubed: did you know that kaiwa means both stairway & horror story? did you know that you can use sea gull feces for important ingrediants required to make gunpowder? etc. i suppose its the glow-worm thread that hangs it all together (like a noose? like an angel, keeps my feet off the ground?) it's laquer on the skull; the patina over things. the shape of a wasp hive built in zero-gee (0-g). it's this slip of a girl, right? what am i talking about? what the fuck am i talking about. organ grinders.
i've got this piece of broken glass for a soul, & its all i've got.
& if you get near me i'll cut you with it. i'll slice you to ribbons.
