September 28, 2016
I made a hole in that fucking wall the size of five childs crosst.
I made the damn thing after the faxes stopped going through and I'd gone through the caramel iron nails and BARBIE-Q nail files. That damn door never made an appearance again so I made a cousin.
It is the cassowary and I'm wary that it's a hunter's moon - oh yes - and there was a shrew afoot.
BOY IS IT ETERNAL TORMENT TO CROSS THE VOID.
It was a miserable trip through wires to get to this here computer - inch by inch across an empty bridge within the walls, adjudicated upon by pious mice perhaps, but nonetheless dank as nook.
You better believe medusa is a mother of darkness 'cause that dang thing speaks truth.
It's solid as a motherfucker too.
SOLID DARKNESS got a rhythm or two too too too too.
The office was completely empty when I got back, seemingly ransacked if not for the bags of chips in the corners. No dodo on the runway neither.
No messages on the little fridge except "piss off", but that's an old one.
It's fine enough to scuff the fuzzy old rug by the bay window with my bare feet and flop my legs off the balcony to survey Columbus Street from above.
We're gonna see a lovely season soon.
There's a crackling of foaming madness in the air everywhere.
Nervous buildings cackle like crazy parrots.
You better believe that you can make the world better.
You better be ready to break a wall a hole whole like three childs crosst.