Kamikaze petal whites careening outside the window, disturbing the cats. What is out there? What am I missing, Pazuzu thinks. DeeDee is less curious. Well, an angel of Death has seen fit to prime the street for domesticated retardation, Pazuzu. You might could just thrive out there, long as a fat starving hawk doesn't crosshair your rather weak camouflage coat. Your glinting bumblebee eyes.
Busted open old DVD wallets today, between group texts with irate co-workers scheming to whip the authorities, caffeinemare writing, walking, smoking, reading, bleeding a little, cleaning dried blood from fingernails, witnessing Disney-esque window stories in horror/bliss, pushups, pontificating, masturbating, contextualizing abdominal pains as figments of imagination, and snuggling with DeeDee and Pazuzu. Watched Taxi Driver and SAFE. Both get better each time.
Taxi Driver I've seen probably 20 or 30 times, but hadn't watched it in many years. I've learned far too late in life that empathizing with Travis Bickle isn't a positive trait.
I used to be a rapper. Two of my favorite lines:
Spit bars straight through you like a fraction.
I've got bigger nuts than mental retardation.
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