(found by an electrical cord and a buzzing Mac computer)
How is it we all become to be mere Fools?
Fools with gel in their hair, wearing their hair all turned up and spun around and eyebrows.
Sitting alone in the backstage locker room, gearing up, suiting up, finding solace in the treasured blankets of hum-drum stupidity.
Here I am, bleeding.
Give me advice, Clarissa. Please explain it all and ease me of my burden. Take away my pain. Rip it from my hands because I fear that without it I will have nothing.
Give me advice. Tell me where BLISS is to be found, where HEART is to be found, where SMILE is to be found.
Just don’t confuse “enjoying something” – even “enjoying something quite a lot” with PASSION. PASSION is pain, suffering and the serenity that results from it. It is not something done to put a smile on the face.
Weeping, all and every. Weeping. Eyes weeping. Wrists.
Underneath the stairwell where the music thudded threatening bass, alone in the moonlight while the quiet girl danced alone beside the stage. I am sorry. I had to leave. I had to leave and be by myself. With all those people, I felt so alone. I couldn’t stand to feel so alone while standing so close by her side.
I want tacos from the taco truck. I want solace in a forgiving smile. I want a tender AND a flaky crust. I want to understand the eternal NOTHING.
These are my demands. Call Lieutenant Barker. Tell him to start of the helicopter, for I’ll be in the vicinity soon, carrying a dozen pizzas, wooden, that I bought from the Sears & Roebuck catalogue.
Vomitus and Voluminous,