The end of the day frustration is that it’s so easy to just say you’re in.

I don’t mind, I heart, I broken leg and I have asked you to lend me a little time, a little hug.

Henry’s looking out the window now, he’s activating, he’s becoming more than a good man, and I don’t know if I can do this Starbuck, I just don’t think he’s gonna make it. 

Are you auditioning?

Aha! Ahahahah.

You think I’d just get rid of my hair just like that? I’m an old cat, Henry is my man, he’s my one-stop-shop, he’s my bleeding heart and my mimetic processing metronome, my vibration in the wall, my closed-eye listener.

Speech! Speech! Speech!

Settle down, Henry. 

(Keep going Henry)

Ahem.

Dare not look at the composer, not as he does, not as is the composition. Only when it is your turn to talk, to play the august tragedy, the great accumulation,

Do you dare look,

And this you do at yourself, outwards, inwards, forwards.

Backwards.

Backwards, son, keep going. Backwards for eternity and then wake, and then some, the end,

Near me, tongue flashing downwards, instantaneous immortality, the cosmic laugh,

You’ve Really Done It This Time.

You are looking at me from the sideways, man, on the edge of a cliff, the one we’ve been gearing towards our entire lives, and you are looking at me, like everything has been forbidden from us, like we’re going through, like we’re the ones that have to deal, and us,

We know immediately what it is.

You are looking at me.