shooting up in some dirty dark corner, to blur the edges of your dumb blank stare. i'm a watercolor stuck in frank stella, this ride is making me ill...

so bold with your fuschia and mealy mouthed words, lord how i wish you'd just shut-up.

"one day i'll get to you, and teach how to be a holy cow"

who cares where the wall st journal is today, we're in a recession if you haven't guessed...

a nail across the blackboard
a splinter in my thumb
the 5th rubberband snapping
the reason for my high
every afternoon.