The Last Post I’ll Ever Write

I’m looking for a loaded gun, an awful shark with pistol whipped ice cream teeth, blood pouring from spouts that drip out of lower intestine ventricles. A face as clear as bright blue drink stars, with gatorade tear droppies.

I just wouldn’t be very good in a position of authority. I’m not cocky enough to tell everyone how to do everything, I’m just privately smug, gritting my teeth at how dissatisfied the world seems to make me. Gritting my teeth to a powdery cement pulp, orange-juicy and steaming from the rot.

God only makes irrational decisions when he’s drunk.

I’m pounding the pavement, with eyes so mean they curd disfigured earth worms. This is only when I just wake up of course. All other instances of existance is: happy faerie gum candy land. sweet cookie cake place.

I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out.

The pulsating heartbeat of yesterday, last night, surging through a seperate hemisphere – nothing meant anything and I couldn’t even keep focus on a Wes Anderson movie as my eyes spun to halts. The cookie cutter regime of ten thousand earth centuries, gone past, left us fragments of sediment – rudiment – sea salt blood washes, veins acting as filters for this last call of ages.

I’m pounding the pavement, keeping my eyes off the road, looking around peripherally gaining vast knowledge of nothing, evar. I can’t stop breathin’ or believin’. But what can I do? That’s just how I was born and shit.