this is your hair, this is your stare, this is your voice

We’re on The Worm. I dread the part where the train goes under the bay. I hold my breath until we safely emerge.

It's not a funeral. Nobody to mourn over.

We transplant helix° splices and shoot back to meet our former selves, zip the scrolls, and save the world. Then you said spin so I twisted my jumper over and over in endless folds like lips, like vaginas, like seacreatures

There's a witch in Laurel Canyon.She made Wes a promise.Her bungalow smelled like Parliaments. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive oil. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive, and a freshly opened pack of Red Vines. Wes could have curled up into a ball and fallen asleep on her…

When she would leave my pillows still smelled like her. I would just inhale her for hours afterwards, sex and honeysuckles.

Then, relieved to have cleared the air, they peacefully returned their way of living.

a white rabbit with a dirty monocle and a straw hat regarded marsha from the grass at the edge of the mud.

The man next door came over with a pitchfork.

I guess it was, you know, a daze thing: He, lightly drunk, turning red in parts of his head, in his cheeks mostly, and his chest, to which my eyes were drawn because of his v-neck douchebag shirt; and I, sleepy beyond belief, sustained like a zombie only

He began to chop the powdery substance and separate it into segments.

Millennium jumped strumming lithium gum cumulative outnumber humiliated résumé jumpy instruments

-Someone could have boosted this easy as pie, Ben said to himself.

Eat the Body/ Drink the Blood/ Perfect the sacrifice,

The boy stared out his window, noting the suns slow and eventual passing behind the distant mountains. He saw his face reflected in the window pane and turned away. His shadow loomed…