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who the fuck knows
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12/9 - 12/19 (12/18)
i’m doing this right
now: staying
juuuust a minute
or two ahead just
a minute or two just
ahead just a minut
eor two ahead
justaminuteortwo.
ahead,
i’ve run
down, of course.
of course, in new york city, of course, but whatever the fuck.
who still cares about stuff like that!
actually
it is pretty cool.
actually, just:
the train outside the window.
that grocery where the air smelled like lawn,
a venue above, and a picture
of a girl somebody took,
that somebody told
that somebody me about.
the train is only a few feet from her outside the window,
and she still exists
and window girl is caught
in the gold (hard, head ache-y, coke-burn-y: incandescent)
or caught white (hard, head ache-y, coke-burn-y: florescent) or red or blue.
i won't see the picture. it's too cool,
too hard. i'm going soft,
like an over-saturated piece of wonderbread,
falling apart in that kind of nauseating gentle way.
pretty common:
the numb weed sickness,
the room spin signaling the end
of the night,
the private dissolve
inside the shell of the self,
inside the endless high school classroom,
expanding out from where you crouch in the middle, a black blot,
this big canvas of classroom and all the chairs and tables looking kind of thin,
or something, like flimsy,
like unconvincing, made of balsa wood and cotton balls
stretched thin and flimsy as something.
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