November 7, 2016
I could get edgy, but what's the point? I'd be violating my curfew by being late to my own funeral again. It happens every night. I get born, and then I die. What's simpler than that? If I took a huge spoon and tried to gather all the brain bits I've lost along the way, I could make a really raunchy reality show about dead dogs trying to find their way back to their doghouses that never were but blurry ideas in a junkies head. I can attest to the dilemma. I'm playing the same thing out again without smack.