I don’t want anymore connections. Only direct contact, skin on skin, soul on soul, fist on face.
Pull back the layers, remove your mask, let me tear down your curtains.
Surrender to me.
Let us make blood soaked sin offerings together. Let us have hundreds of babies and golden silent nights.
Let us go over budget, spend more money than we have
Turn the hotel room insideout and drink all the booze in the mini-bar.
We go for broke and then ask for spare change.
We skip out on the bill. Don’t tip the bellboy and run naked through central park. Push over garbage cans, scare all the children.
This is my traveller’s prayer, this is my business meeting, this is my conference call.
Why is the man writing in the littleblacknotebook the crazy one?
What about the man yelling into the littleblackphone?
It’s this pen on paper, these thoughts on a page.
This is as direct as I know how to be.
