divebaby raze i'm a moth in a puddle of piss. go to a bar on a sunday to hear shitty music. never been to a bar on a sunday before. but sunday is the fun day, & the night time is the right time. it's so good to be ripped off. to be made to feel as if your work has been prostituted without your knowledge, only to stumble before you on sunday in all of its redressed-but-still-recognizable glory. choking on a cherry you make guttural sounds & claw at the air but you never catch it i used to go to high school with you, so let's talk about nothing. you remember something i don't, though i'll remember when i'm hungover. let's dance. we can't dance to this music. let's hover in our own space, in this cesspool of a sunday. your friend [i think she's your friend] is drawing in a small black sketch book. "it's always bewildered me--people who can draw well. i could never do that. all i can draw are stupid-looking faces," i say. some of them have a balloon string where the body should be. "it's like anything else," she says, "if you just practice a lot." & everybody loves the band. they're a band for people devoid of ears; a run-on, go-nowhere, do-nothing, say-nothing collection of nothing noise. they're what everybody here wants. open your fucking hearts & breathe me in. at least there's alcohol, to dull the senses. "they're so good...you won't believe how good they are." i dance on my way to the washroom & hear someone say, "what the fuck was that?" dance to quell the animosity. i can't dance to this music. i don't stagger or slur my words. i become more talkative & play around with non sequiturs, but that's about it. wearing the death clothes dropping the cheek bones wasted a tangent i wanted to puke with the force of a thousand horses. instead, i keep helping people when i'd rather place a hex on them. love the ones you hate, right? love them against your will. love them until it makes you sick. i don't think i've ever seen any of them dance. 031201 ... misstree with half-grin and familiar nod. it echoes. 031202 ... yeah baby oh yeah. 071230 what's it to you? who go blather from