Please join in on my new hashtag, “FailedHashtags”
I ponder with a forty and a fedora
upon the beat, the lost, and the renaissance
fair and balanced are the worlds falling as callused and cold
as my fingers, unable
to feel the heat of the lamination machine at Kinko’s.
From slotted spoons and sugar cubes
to a needle in a haystack — nay
— a gutter to the tests on the paper,
I shudder at what the future brings
after we win Babylon,
after we lose Babylon.
I really wish I could have seen where the fuck that was going.
This blog was made under the illumination of a great invention known as incandescent light. If you are reading this in the future, where the mass populous has chosen landfills of mercury for the sake of a better “carbon footprint,” here’s what an incandescent light bulb looked like.
I’m working on a comedy bit for my friend’s acoustic show. I’m getting a wig and pretending to be Danzig who has quit rock and roll and is now doing folk music, and I’m working out all folk versions of Misfits songs. It will either be amazing or fail miserably.
I like to imagine that Dauragon has had sex with every female he posts on his Tumblr, that he has them all taped and labeled, organized nicely in a walk-in closet, and that one day, he’s going to invite me over for a movie marathon.
Wrong. I’m Buddhist. Technically, the glass is always empty.
“Sick. Vomiting. There’s a sign in New England. I’m a giraffe. I’m glad that I probably shouldn’t be.”