the parasites will love you when you're dead la la la la la

since my last, i may or may not have gone certifiably mad. i cut my hair with kitchen scissors in the bathroom sink after a firedance with nihilism. i traded places with the ocean. i came at the circle from outside. the distractions sprout tentacled distractions which sprout other infinities. i offered myself as a temporary storage vessel to daniel johnston should he need to transfer his consciousness anywhere. i shook hands with the atmosphere and the economy. both had sharp canine teeth and positive things to say about the other, though i suspect this was the requisite social nicety. i set a serious deadline for infinite jest. i stopped communicating with people. i laugh maniacally at mentions of the challenger explosion and photographs of ronald reagan. i think often of appalachia.

and else has happened
say hello to my little friend

not that one. but similar.

i am a bad parent. i abandoned it on an escalator. i fed it dishwasher tablets. i let it watch scarface. i raised it in california. maybe you would like to adopt it? it could make a decent and biodegradable doorstop. you could practice your dart throwing technique on it. you could regale it with stories of vietnam. you could send it on an aeroplane to russia when you are done.

my humble thanks to michael at bedouin books for giving it such a handsome skin in which to live. i could not be happier to be part of the caravan. if you are not currently living in a cave, gourd, or tepee, my recommendations of their entire past and pending catalogue defy the gravity i have known.

if you do live in a cave, gourd, or tepee, perhaps you should contact me and we could combine resources.