Sixty-six 23gauge syringes in my buddy Jarrod’s back, with feathers coming out the top of each syringe. Guess who did all sixty-six?
Ars Memoram (rough draft)
And now that we have completely become rent asunder unto ourselves,
And now the sword hangs from a golden thread over a silver throne
And now, not now, now
And always not now, always never
Pick it up, dust it off
The aperture of entropy
Vocabulary; I learned all the words I use from women I hated
Barbs on which my tongue [...]
