Does it help to look at the ground while you walk?

If not, I fear you might walk into me or a pole or worse yet a train, yeti, or left-over lightning, wet and whetted from the ground-on rain. It's not clear enough why you think with your head to the ground.


I have not a lot more to say, but wait--
There is a monster I have seen in the face of Danger. He thinks himself a punk and he is in the British sense; he fucks like a demon. He wears a woman's mask and mashed all who entered into a pulp. I want in more now than I ever have.
Some day his smile will fall on deaf ears, his laugh on blind eyes. Someday he will not be recognized. Until then, recognize!






I keep seeing gap-teeth where only Oreo's once have been. I keep laughing at this.











She could not help her aversion to red-heads. They were sly, like Satan: this is what she thought. Her eyes followed him from the roof of her house, rifle pointed just before where he was about to walk. In cartoons, when a bird is killed its feathers remain. As she pulled the trigger she could see his ginger tuft, floating helplessly, haplessly there in the stale July air.