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He came into the place where I was working.

He walked up to the counter wearing those clothes that said I'm my own Guantanamo Bay of the heart, but I will fuck you casually if it's a good day...

He said, "I want you to know something."

"Yeah?"

"A lot of people don't get you."

And he knocked on the ugly counter that has a corner missing and reminds me of a chipped tooth as he said this. Don't. Knock. Get. Knock. You. Knock.

"Are you listening to what I'm telling you? Don't get you. At all.

He wasn't high or drunk. I don't think.

"There, I said what I need to say," he said, and walked out.

I waited until his car patched out. Then I waited ten minutes more. Then I threw my company i.d. on the corner and walked out.

It's like with vampires.

You have to live on the run, because vampires have a lot of time on their undead hands..

When you're dead you can spend all day doing this shit.

There was a poem on my answering machine. Vampire verse NEW AND IMPROVED.

He said something vaguely threatening about GPS.

Technology assists psychos. That's the only reason it exists. Don't kid yourself.

There was a message from his answering machine that he played on mine, because he thought it was me. It wasn't. It didn't even sound remotely like me.

But this really got him going.

Probably he was pretending in the hopes that he would get a mercy clarification. Psychotic arbitrageurs are everywhere.

Some people think tears are the diamonds of the heart.

I think they're more the motor oil of the psychosis.

Well the type of tears I'm talking about now.

"If you're going to the cemetery, I'm not gonna be your chauffeur. You can just walk. Some fucked up LIFETIME t.v. movie was on.

But the question of style had been raised.

There were people who don't get me.

Who are these people?

I worried about them tonight, but I didn't worry about you.

Congratulations, your plan worked.

The mashed potatoes tasted like your psychosis tonight.

Should I be gotten?

Formica knockers don't sleep well at night.

They probably don't sleeep at all.

Your life is like a Rainer Werner Fassbinder tropical fish aquarium.

I know the spotted danio or the knifefish or the fake-ass angelfish will distract you soon.

I really think you just need a lover/killer who will scream things at you when you're trying to sleep at night: YOU KILLED YOUR PARENTS! YOU HAVE CANCER OF THE EVERYTHING! YOU ARE NOT ECO-FRIENDLY AND THE PLANET HATES YOU!

The history of all your relationships goes like this: Blood. Bleed. Bled.

Just like Ping Pang and Pong in Turandot.

Highbrow reference for you.

I have to go mow my divine lawn with my divine lawnmower now.

That means I'm going to sleep.

I hope you feel better tomorrow.

And that you get that awful knocking sound looked at.

I won't be around for a while.

I'm going to Kitten School.

They have a great class called "Assisted Suicide and the Internet."

I don't really know if it's really an accredited place or anything.

But I just like to go and sit somewhere else with strangers.

One of them was sixty years old and raised his hand today.

Isn't that funny?

Imagine if you were dying in the hospital.

How much it would be like being back in school.

You have to raise your hand with a bed clicker or something.

I'm never going back to school.

I refuse to die like an eighties television program that comes back.

I like what Frida Kahlo said about that.

But I forget exactly what she said.

It was powerful though. Powerful as a light switch.

Powerful as a light switch in the Louvre.

You were not my Louvre.

I am not your light switch.

Sometimes this happens like this when you haven't even gotten naked with a person or told them you like them, let alone love them.

People are full of emptiness.

The universe is a big cold stage filled mostly by ventriloquists.

The dummies are the sexiest thing on that stage.

I love a man made out of wood.

They don't try to stick their hand up your ass and do a routine.

Puppets fall in love and run away.

They can live in Venice, Haifa or anywhere.

I don't shop in Palookaville because I have "returning items" issues.

That counter takes forever.

You must have mistaken me for some other guy. Sorry.

I gotta go water something.

Then flush something.

Then text something.

Night.

Night.