My mouth

Anyway, my mouth. You feel the top of my mouth? The ridge that runs from somewhere in the middle to a little further down than that is growing. My head is going to fall apart and Doctor who will have to fix me.

He’s made for America. Consumption umption.

I wanted to keep writing so that the words would get faster. They stand in the way right now and it all feels very forced. I had so many thoughts before but they get stopped up when I see a screen. Even when I scribble in all speed and haste it’s nowhere near fast enough to get an authentic code of feeling. I scratch my forehead and wipe my eyes. Sniff sniff.

So anyway I thought I’d write down what comes to me as it comes. I don’t like to fit it all into a frame or conversation because conversations with this sort of thing have no frame. I see how people speak. The words don’t matter it’s that we can pretend to hear each other.

And that feels like the first round. Tomorrow I burn parliament in my grief. I cry but no-one answers. Mmmmm. That’s

“Calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“Dude calm down.”


“Cool yourself.”

“AAAAAARGH!” “No you’re right I should calm down.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“Oh don’t start this again.”

“Start what?”

“Aggravating me.”

“I think you aggravate yourself.”

“Yeah well you don’t help.”

I thought about keeping the spelling mistakes. Next time maybe. Hmmm. Socialism.

There’s always tomorrow.

I should have been addicted to drugs. That would be more fun.

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