There's so much to tell. So little time to tell it. The dark the light. This is the life. Although this collection is not exactly an autobiography, I'm noticing it is indeed a chronicle of my life. Not exactly things that have and/or have not happened. We're still about nine years or so ago, when I was able to write constantly. I do miss that. Never leaving home without my notebook. Always having a pen. Paragraphs oozing out of me like my machismo. Anyway. Enough of me.

Red. Green. Blue. Yellow. Purple. Orange. Pink. Big. Small. Short. Tall. Unseen. Unheard. Unbled. This'll make for one crazy night. Eyes open, don't miss out. Tupperware daydreams and tickertape nightmares. Sound asleep. Left alone. Tranquility. Peace. Quiet. Loud. Obnoxious. Tell your tales of lonely heartedness. Keep the thought to yourself. Live alone. Die alone. You are.

Cater. Make it seem that you are everyone elses slave. You work for everyone else's needs. This way, when you find out it's true, you won't be surprised. Work. Work hard. Work harder. It'll never pay off. You'll always just be someone elses servant. Get served. No one cares for you. No one looks out for you. You're unknown. Make yourself scarce. Be sure that you're only seen when you're needed. If someone needs you to clean up their mess, buy their groceries, sleep with their wife, wipe their nose, wipe their ass, whatever. Do it. Show up. Be their slave. Forget yourself. Unclaim. Enjoy.

Actually it's vice versa. This sounds like a dude. It's gross. "I gotta ax you somfin." Cripes. This is almost as bad as the foreigners I work with. She sounds likefuckin Barry fuckin White. On top of that she speaks fluent fuckin ebonics. People like her should be shot. No food. Tea only. It's sweetened. Hell. "Juis wan some tean an some scrimp." Please go fetch me my gun. My trigger finger is getting really happy. One to the head,two to the ches, two to the leg, one to the foot. Reload. Three to the stomach, one to the neck, one to the arm, one more to the chest. Reload. Six more to the head. Reload. I think I'm done. What a mess. The horrible voice is gone though. At least I can be happy about that. Wish I could truly explain what it was that really drew this hatred outta me. Eh. Oh well. Cue Aerosmith here. I better get a mop.