I am back with this strange black circle, this logo that has become me and yet is not me at all. I am back to tell stories, back to raise the dead, to cough and keep on keeping going. I am here to talk about the dangers of youth, of hugs, and vomit and a few more things, of playing cards and cotton candy, mescaline and boxing gloves, metaphors and premeditated arguments, being ready at the start of things, with a pile of stars shaped like arrows and a very large bow. Orion, he is seeing all these things, laughing as the rubber bands snap and crying like a tiger in the middle of the windy jungle, so strange, to have all these waterfalls crumple on top of me at once, to see I do not want to make "swirls" at all... swirls make me think of tornados of thought, I am a windy beach, sandy and icy, winter time on the shores of Lake Michigan.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...