STENCILED LOVE-LETTERS ON WAREHOUSES (JOHN CUSACK)

Another prose piece from the journals of “Paul Spitzer” page 48


Heated debate, over the love of the lady sitting next to me. Drab reality, inches closer to me. She has the neck of a meerkat. FEELS THE NEED TO SUCK IT, BRINGS THE IDEA OF BLANK, EMPTY SPACE TO MIND.

Points to me, “my shy friend over there……[static static static static] ….very good dancer….[static static laughter static] designed to break…” Prods the floor, drips with sap from the brow.

Left to the devises of the dancers, the dripping sap comes up to above the eyes. He is followed by the others, indefinitely. Runs across the street. THIS IS NOT DRAMA! This is travesty in a latté cup. The five-stared demons heads drive the music into the ground, pounding music for the latent-maturation patients. To be the age of 20 until the age of 45. Let’s sink into the ground, the pounding, prodded ground.

Stenciled love-letters on warehouses