It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care I was so frustrated that I just kept waking. Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path. I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself “It's really time to go.” Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking. In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ. Was I trying? I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway. At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going. I'm hungry And I'm lonely And nobody loves me anyway I never feel at home And look Nobody wants me anyway My body is a rotting truck Nobody wants me anyway I might as well have been a corpse Nobody wants me anyway lol Didn't it have like ham, And— — both these cheeses. Cojita and queso blanco. With like— Pinapple, I think— And like, a kosher dill pickle. Hence the Dill. I guess. It was a really good sandwhich. Yeah. Oh well. When the friend in your head ends, And just drops dead, so you run in With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of Drops of syrup Water fountain Now I'm hungry It's been years But who the fuck is counting. We all made bad decisions and choices Mine was to jump first, Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature And a long slovic look with an axe tongue And a language no one on earth speaks But those who had what most or none do And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes Far off looks of lost souls Eyes of oceans And no monuments without our fortunes Wrong, bud. I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll One for ever one I've suffered We have the same deck of cards, Only mine can talk, son Look, I wrote you an open socket Conform to nothing Nobody loves me, anyway cause I get hungry Go be a husband, dope boy Go be a Carhart, countryman Go be a store bought doughboy That ought to solve it Dropped you on Stop that Round the corner 9 holes of golf left I told you who won that Round one What a way to die What a way to live What a way to love King James! What away to lose. What away to tie. What a way to die. What a way to lie! King James! I've got bibles for miles And eyes on my articles, Isis on cycles And Christs in criseses I put a thorn on your mailbox Will you promise to prick it? The finger I picked it! The truth was involved And in blood it was written The ritual sense, Pretenses Pretend this didn't happen “I didn't” I swore throat on your mailbox I promise I nailed the mailman and ten blondes Just not to fawn at the thought of ya Fawn at the thought of you But oh am I woke on my tired Regardless I simple don't write in code —till I'm inspired. Woah! What a lovely scroll you wrote! King James! What the fuck made me write that? Scallions! There's a million ways to die And oh, The toll of having Wolverine Wrapped around your finger Aspartame Had better bitter sanctions From the tales of old Histophcles And obstacles The Oxford girls? More tour bus stories, Blonde hair Broke Bloke, Tits and tits and Have you written any sentiments About your post mortem. Of course. I even put my will in order It's obvious they want me dead And rather than a lover There simply is no love left! String her up and ...
