I'm sitting on a folding chair, smoking a cigarette and trying my best to type. Both of my hands are wrapped in thin white gauze, with a couple of holes cut out for fingers.
It hurts, party people, it hurts deep down.
Everything changes. Go with the flow and get your kicks: run down the council flat hallway, punching out every sickly green glass light with your bare hands until you reach the window at the end and see the whites of your eyes reflected back at you in the darkness.
Learn to embrace all the reality tv shit mixed with the mobile phone web shit mixed with the tiny apartments and the percentage of internet usage among people who sleepwalk through their day, trying not to talk to other people, a subacultcha THAT HAS BLOSSOMED IN THE LAST QUARTER DECADE and in turn inspired an entire younger generation of holdits/controlits who work long hours during the day so they can be all alone at night with the curtains drawn…
(A piece of coffee cake, a mouthful of swill, cyber benedictions and prescription pills)
fuck empty-v
fuck the b-word
in the twin peaks afterworld, entertainment will come to you when you need it most and expect it least. it will be a secret soul thing, like when you're shitting your greasy guts out and suddenly see jesus' face in the bathroom tiles. instead of shows and channels there will be scenes and freeze frames. googled haikus. moonlit miles. goddesses parachuting out of the plane as pigeons and hitting the ground as phoenixes.
your kicks will come to you through raymi's words, the ones you waited for, ringing your hands and checking for days, until suddenly and without warning they fell from the sky and piled up around you, inches thick.
Perfectly round, translucent white glowing stones...
your kicks will mess with your mind like jamie's chicken or jg's tornadoes. they'll teach you to expect the unexpected, to feel the secret systems that feel you back. aurore's golden jukebox. ultra b's verbal whip.
hold on, party people, someday your kicks will come...
(you came to my world, only on a hunch,
i don't need no cook, girl
i need lunch)
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