quasi_sean

interior of a box home

next to...
the greatest sound--that i am stunned.
my alias claims himself in therapy.

i wave good morning and goodbye to the new dawn, the better painting of goddamn beauty in trouble.

i'm taking a nap inside.


it's a frozen street in the middle of a dead town. the shadows are rolled up and stored in the closet for the winter. i'm lactating and the dogs are scrubbing my walls in their shit. i've had twelve drinks by the mid-afternoon. a gold notebook (that I burned centuries ago) is alive in a series of disgusting habits. i'm masturbating to the fuck-flick being shown at the drive-in. i'm in prison. i'm chewing thru the walls and bars and my teeth are shattering black and hanging from my gums. i haven't slept in nine days and i am addicted to internet gossip and i'm making montages of B-list celebrities and pasting them to the brick walls that surround the churches.

what is this music?

it's the incest-too-much-beer country twang.
or the anti-god-coathanger-abortion death metal.

either way, it's making my ears bleed buckets.

if i get my way there will be happiness in this purple cloud.