Why do you get up so early just to write things down? It’s foolish. You’re foolish. All those lies. If you had only been honest with me. What does that even mean? It’s almost as if you have no concrete knowledge as to where your bread is buttered.
A fucking sandwich
A sandwich and a salmon and a saddled sister swimming in from out of state. A seven and an eight and another round of trouble from the troubled twins and the conjoined faces. But how do they see? But how do the sea? But how!!
It isn’t obvious. It isn’t pretentious. It isn’t your business you lying piece of shit. How can you be so obtuse? Don’t you know that you are what you drive? Don’t you know that I never once asked to see who you are or where you live? Don’t you know that this depression is a killer? What do you know and where is it that you go? You don’t go down to Dixieland and I’ve never seen you at Disneyland. I doubt you’ve ever even been to Florida let alone driven there and back. Who are you, anyway? Why is your tongue split? Why do your fingernails curl backward? Why don’t you look like me? Why don’t you sound like me? Why can’t I smell your hair?
Go back to sleep. Go back to bed. Go back to where you belong. Go back. Go back. Go back.