It was safest to walk down the center of the street, Minneapolis iced up mulling deep the responsi-liabilities, post-Christmas economy crash cow it’s on us, you know. For worshiping idle, being economical, our faults, for knitting our own scarves to keep warm and our pennies, kill ourselves for loonies (MAD MEN!) how we’ll hang from this yarn. Hang onto this thread. Looking forward to our New Year’s hangovers.
I had fun in Fargo. I had fun in the Cities, snow to my waist and tearloose riding busses listening to Doomtree, feeling torn and interesting. Here’s the school I would have voted at last November. Here’s a little house unaware of its grace. Recall my swoon over Youth Moan? Its remains remain for those who remember. Bree made bacon cookies wtf, and Nic, Anna and I danced to industrial music at a gay bar like-old-times. In keeping with anachronicity, I showed ‘em good with an inspiring fusion of floorpunching, darksider stomp, tektonic, krump and jazz hands.
I might be really good at something. The best. I don’t know what it is yet. It doesn’t involve acceptance of uncertainty, I know that, I tried. I breathed real deep and sat real still and felt real fake and smoked and drank and stayed up late and made hot tea alone in quiet kitchens. Drowned myself in seven different bathtubs. Not long ago I had my last first day of school. Yesterday I raced off the 99 at Sasamat, rammed a book in the VPL dropslot, and got back on *the same 99* despite minimal new boarders to stall it for me, continuing my commute home straightaway saving myself anywhere from four to six and a half minutes waiting for the next shuttle.
I skip the sad songs on shuffle. I painted my fingernails blood red.