Wrecks

The Dead Girl Jaywalks

Adolescents / The Dreamspace / Jaywalking (Pre production)

Becomes

The Dead Girl Jaywalks

Sometime soon.

Zombies, Inspired by,!!! Zombies!!!!!!!!!!!!

Rescued by the tidal wave: picked up by the dug outs and taken out by the drunken junk. To bus drivers and their secret dreams of being radio stars. 

Overwhelmed in a zombie crowd. 

(I talk too much about you

Their ears are getting tired of my singing all the night through

Let's just talk together

You and me and me and you

And if there's nothing much to say...*)

GOOD WEEKEND.

(* the purple bottle animal collective)

Nineteen

Hello my dear, It's been a while but still. I think about you always. Suit and ties. Tumbler and apple juice ready. The lights go. Slouching, lumbering, bumbling in. Sit. Pick one up. Put it down. Pick it up. Listen and eye roll. Get up. Slumber on to tables with games. Walk out. Etc Etc Etc. All of you burned into me. It's crazy how such an ill-written escape could make me shake so. It's you and all of you and what you mean. And how I will never ever drop it. I miss you too and I think I said so back then but I'll say it again. Good day sir.

Can't Waait

Inglourious Basterds (Release date: August 21st, 2009)

The Honeybuns Full Court Press 3.31.09

Tripping Over Things and Indolent Violent

Try One:

Gretch, queen of the drunken underworld, scurrying madly through rust drain pipes and the rotten organs of Sanctuary One, she spoke wildly of these: the peppered faces of unborn tranquilizers. "I can't remember what I just said" Cried the homeless man, one foot out to kiss her legs and send her kneeling...

Try Two:

Sadly, we woke without you. Rain in the hair, body in cold air shivering fast. Crayola tshirt mechanics, elegant in the ocean breeze (stealing fates all over the fucking place). Go home, but come home soon. Suns rise rarely at the end of the world. I forgot what my reaction was when you told me you wanted to be there.

Try Three:

She broke your windpipe with the blow of a kiss, sharp. "It's a hit or miss!" She cried, oven mitts on her hands, her voice on your skull like sand paper. Wearing a glass of wine, breaking the news, rinsing her mouth of the words that she chews.

Try Four:

Forty-somethings on a Rampage! Kill all Kill all! Kick them in the neck, bash them in the brains, gun them in the knees, cut 'em up cut 'em up baby cut - them - up. "He's what a temper tantrum dreams of being" Rats would say. Scarily enough my head spoke first. Wrapped like mummies, organs in a jar. The simple click, a distant Oh, and hell loose and my bones breaking on cement stairwells already covered in someone else's blood.

Try Five:

It's five o'clock and the survivors are climbing, barely.