WHAT IT IS TELEGRAM
(from one haircut to another)
Dear low hanging fruit whining "Uncle," [STOP]
Make the decision to quit pining, jackass. For surface: anatomy of the shoulder blade or any various muscle to bone tissue therein. Whatever-thread-count-softness, tide rushing in and out lullabies, real silver on a tablecloth. THIS IS FANTASY. ALL OF IT. ALL OF IT. [STOP]
Fly over cracked ice or hibernate. We don't care. Dodging the tirade or not dodging it, but trying, right? To upgrade those glasses to a better focus one minute, a softer one the next. Take it from me, we are all sick of you. [STOP]
Fused? Is that what you said? Nothing to see here, move along. Because, listen, people don't want to see the darkness unless it's being fought. Heroically. [STOP]
Land this: People want to hear the voice crack ONLY if it's not broken. If it's on the edge of breaking momentarily, but really, it's magic. [STOP]
What it is? Scrap-junk-heart-trust. Grow up old woman. We are not thinking of you. We never were.
[STOP] [STOP] [STOP]
Sincerely,
Rust Face [STOP]
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
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