From 12:30-2:00
Surreality in T minus 10, 9, 8.
Without a blastoff, but with hard-boiled eggs
A smoking cell phone, divorce, dirty floors,
Tinsel, terror and pets.
Surreality in T minus 7, 6, 5.
Don’t tell me, don’t tell me.
I’m
You needn’t come in or give in or sin .
Surreality in T minus 4, 3.
But Mom, it’s not mine this time,
So keep the booze flowing and imbibe.
Surreality in T minus 2, 1
What? No, that’s not the case this season
Reason being it’s been out of fashion for ages.
It’s not bestiality is it? I don’t hate my friends do I?
Am I insecure, fat, disciplined, slow,
Too likely to follow?
Do I really help people more than I need to? Is that possible?
Was that floor washer
Too small for such a big store?
Ugh, you again? I thought I had rid myself of your face.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you you you you.
Seriously. Just fuck you.
What does that mean, one fourteen?
Should I sit here?
Does it matter where?
Who are you, anyway?
We sit here on this black pavement
Hoping to make our lungs the same color
With our tar-filled sticks.
Can we slow down, here?
I don’t understand why Mr. Winkler is singing.
Well, I do.
But “That’s Amore” is Mr. Martin’s job.
Quietly, quaintly insane, quick,
With a less than calm feeling
About family, fad diets, friends, and self.
Scared? Damn fucking right.
Freaky music isn’t its right place.
It’s not going away, you know.
Unless you make it go away.
Lucidity? What’s that?
Control. It’s only control.
Control your actions and what’s going on.
When I try to control things, I lose it.
And then it’s…
Surreality in T minus zero.
No blastoff remember?
Open your eyes
And realize your reality.
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