The dinoplastic undernation is my true home. The prequel to the ideas that consume us so concurrently is my point of emanation. I wish to silently go back.
I am thinking a lot about smokestacks lately. I am pining for their sooty gusts. I want to open my mouth wide and hold it in place with a clamp. I am not afraid of the drool that is sure to spill out. I will hover above a smoky open top and inhale the toxic gray billow. It is an experiment that will lead to unhealth, but I am so sorely not worried about that.
Beth is sleeping in a tent on the sidewalk outside my apartment building. I don't have the heart to call the cops. She really wants to move back in. It seems this Geno character was just a ruse to get me jealous. It didn't work and now she is whittling away my callousness by trying to make me feel bad for her. It is semi-working. I may let her back in early tomorrow. Another night on the pavement is good for her, no?
What a twinkly day it was today. I practically couldn't see anything. That is good. Thank you for being you.
Love and kisses,