wherein a bag of beans is on my back & other things happen

there is currently a microwaved bag of beans on my back. this is one way to tell whether you are loved. or a corporate slave and possible victim of aneurysm. in my mind there is no distinction between the two. my memory goes to bermuda these days. memory just traipses around ticking.

i saw the orionids and they were burning medicine.

(not the orionids nor a bag of beans)

massive thanks to the notoriously enigmatic editors of > kill author for this kind gesture. i think i want to elope to ukraine with them. make pixelated babies with legs growing from their heads. and definitely read j.a. tyler's jimmy and his father and the ways about them and emma j. lannie's proxy if you have not already and be as stunned as i am as to why my name has the fortune of appearing alongside theirs.
remember sammy jenkis.