hell house

yes you are you're attracted to roddy mcdowell in a proto crispin glover way he said. no, i am an obsidian obelisk not a phallic symbol but a petrified ray of the sun disc. the black pyramid candle searching ways that involve paying money to walk among people dressed in jerkins and leg o mutton sleeves. to find the right stall.

I'm an invasive species, i'm not covered in obnoxious color tattoo horror i don't have an ironic name and don't come from blonde peasant stock all those brave big boned hyperborean people who spent nine months of the year watching pink and lavender shadows on the snow shifting. but like a parasite vine i cling on their city and leach the good things from it and sometimes forget the dread things happening to my body unbidden, how my thighs rub together blancmange like when i walk and pretty soon I'm going to be walking around bald head as an alien. 

a friend wants me to knit her a wedding dress, so i can sit like arachne under skeins of champagne colored yarn drinking ice water and thinking possibly someday someone will want to touch my unspeakable parts. how i'll have time for this in my schedule of frying, reading, driving, listening to records/bathing is unclear because working six days in a row, even only once, makes time stretch and snap trekky and surreal like. it snaps backward unexpectedly and that's how it gets you, face hugger like, wraps around your skull and gives you a slight headache.

so maybe i'm a little attracted.

source.