THE NUMBERS 1 - 4 AND SOME WORDS

1.

TODAY I ATE LUNCH ALONE IN A DINER AND AS I ATE I
FELT LIKE DEATH IS A CONTINUOUS FUCKING OF THE VEINS BY GOD.
TOMORROW I WANT TO EAT LUNCH INSIDE OF YOU BUT
INSTEAD OF FEELING SAD, I WANT TO FEEL LIKE A TWO-HEADED
MANNEQUIN WITH NO ARMS AND NO IMAGINATION
MODELING A SWEATER.

2.

MY CHEEKS ARE HANG GLIDING AROUND THE ROOM TOWARDS YOUR SHAKING HANDS.
I WANT TO GO BACK TEN YEARS AND MAKE AN ACTIVISION GAME ABOUT A
HELICOPTER PILOT CONVINCING MY BLOOD TO ESCAPE THROUGH MY FEET AND
THROUGH MY SLEEPING EYES. THEN I WANT MY BLOOD'S HELICOPTER PILOT TO DIE.

3.

MY MEDITATION IN AN EMERGENCY IS ME
PRAYING MY WIRELESS MOUSE WILL KILL ME.

3A.

WHEN I SAY "WIRELESS MOUSE" I MEAN "YOU"
AND "HOW I LOVED YOU BUT I FELT LIKE IT
WAS NEVER QUITE EQUALLY RECIPROCATED EVEN
THOUGH I WOULD WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF
THE NIGHT LYING NEXT TO YOU IN A COLD
SWEAT THINKING IMMEDIATELY ABOUT DEATH AND
HOW IT WOULD MEAN THE ABSOLUTE CESSATION OF
MY COMPLETE DEDICATION TO YOU THROUGH NO
FAULT OF MY OWN OTHER THAN THAT I AM MADE
OUT OF BLOOD AND NOT GOLD LIKE I WISH I WAS."

4.

SHOOT AT ME WITH A SHOULDER-MOUNTED MISSLE ONCE IN A WHILE. OR MAYBE I'LL
JUST CREATE A NEW SIGNIFIER FOR YOU. MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE "POP ROCKS." AND WHEN POP ROCKS ARE FINALLY GONE YOU WILL FINALLY BE GONE FROM MY BLOOD, BONES, DRYWALL, SKY, ETC. ETC. ETC. FUCK.