where did she goooo?
…
mah luuuv-ly?
ah wanna nooooo…
wh-r do u whar do u goooo?
“what?”
i’m talkin’ ‘boute that one renter,
you know,
with the smokin’ hot bod
and the mini pincher dog,
who we only ever saw
when they’d test the fire alarm?
the babe, not the dog.
h-h-h-ho-ho-way
h-h-h-ho-ho-way
“who’re you
yammering about now,
hm?
i told you the girl at Jasper’s funeral was
probably twelve.
it’s the GMOs in the food:
that’s why rule of sevens, dude.”
my counsellor told me to deal in certainties;
to stop worrying about things outside me;
to find my new identity,
stop living in the past and get with this century.
i don’t like movies anymore.
there was a time that finding
a new Oliver Reed film would excite me,
or rewatching something by Spike Jonze
or Paul Schrader could entice me
to stick my head out of the hole where no one could find me.
when watching Dirty Work for the dozenth time
or any Evil Dead would put me on cloud nine
when all i wanted to do was stop being alive.
theory of a daskeman 