Tuesday, July 31, 2007

from the cave urn

So right, I'm gonna die, well! When I die. When I die, I'm gonna fall asleep in a field of poppies. Get that opium bark tongue taste and wither like my father. MOther father, pliers, feathers. Pretenders.

And I'll die with a bunch of clean sheets. wrapped up and rescued by a surprise date!

My cave windows have shower curtains and waxy shawls on the window sills. They do an excellent job of bow tying the ambulance flickers.
I live across the street from a hospital and LOVE IT

As morbid as it mayy seem, it's really just in case someone dies, and how I can just take myself and my combat boots to their IVs and HIVS. speaking of HIV fuck project red.

TThe napalm hippies of the nowayears, they're just plastering ole Che Guevara on their organ backpacks.

here is why:

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