Cowboys and Cows

All the best DJs are saving
The slowest song for last
When the dance is through
Its me and you
Come on, would it really be so bad

Iridescent strip. Playful contractions. I’m all sold out. I don’t make sense, and I am running around in circles. And fugg ya ye oogle butch of a shnacklepipe. – I just had to say that. It sounds too cynical.

Ah. Talk about being one. IF I had been one from the very beginning, then I wouldn’t have had to admit that life’s a crackwhore that keeps us all alive by luring us into deeper evil and finally killing us in one heck of a blow. Great job, life. I’m too tired to sit straight and notice how much my body is aching all of a sudden – but I just did feel and say it, didn’t I? Perhaps there’s that bigger celestial reason why this is happening right now but I’m not planning to look for it. I just had to say it, that’s all. But what makes sense amidst this foggy labyrinth of paranoia-crossed-with-dear-frenzy is that I am markedly scared of Michael Jackson and I am excited for tomorrow.

Eyes half shut. Back crouched like the tiger. I am loving every single moment of eternal damnation.

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