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02.17.02 - 6:30

"it's a picture perfect evening and i'm staring down the sun / fully loaded deaf and dumb and done / waiting for sedation to disconnect my head / or any situation where i'm better off than dead"

i'm not really sure where it went wrong. someone else's voice was in my ear and your hand was on my shoulder. if you had theme music, she told me, it would totally be like daria's. huh. maybe. nothing i do is ever quite exactly right, but then i suppose that's true of everyone. stuck on 549 and wasting the day away in a plush white terry bathrobe. listening to brenda kahn sigh-sing through christopher says. listening to the dead covering me and bobby mcgee. we saw that old man play it. i remember he looked a lot like kris kristofferson. but with a beer belly.

i'm sorry about a lot of things but not quite sure what to do about them. 'what we have here is failure to communicate...some men, you just can't reach.' failure to communicate indeed. it's none of your business v. of course it's my business, but you know what, it's not, there are most definitely things that you need know nothing about. it's better that way. not only better, but right.

i wanted something better to come out of this but the time's not right and maybe the time will never be right. who's supposed to know this kind of thing? i could cut myself into little bits and pieces and leave a trail of body parts for you to follow when you're ready. pick up a finger here, an ear there. you'll know you've arrived when you see me in the dust, my eyes staring back at you, speared on a toothpick like cocktail olives in your martini.

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