fractal

I am quiet. Momentarily.

Fed Ex and Radio Shack are, in fact, my mortal enemies.

I run rampant, a friend asked if I was cornered, I looked at her wildly and said there were too many corners I'm crouched in.

pour more dye.
pack more clothes.
destroy dollies.
pass that test.
fire bomb Fed Ex.
sit on a bus for what should only be an hour, but will be five.
draw more, see more, listen in.
figure out that depravity that's been seeping through the cracks.
transcribe that conversation.
sew me back together just to rip apart the seams.
get Sean fat.
fix those claws.

I walked down main street with a garbage bag full of thrift store dolls this afternoon, spilt coffee down my white shirt, yelled at the air for still managing to make my life difficult. Curses to you.