He was here, such a young scamp, running about chasing butterflies and dreams …
WTAF ever happened to that little BEAM of LIGHT?
Did some monster take poor G1NJRBR3D in the NIGHT?
Little G1NJRBR3D never hurt no one no how … he was a moon child of the darkest emerald and in glaze his hazy ways would transform the gloom from a tomb.
No one said nothing bad about poor little G1NJRBR3D … but is he dead?
Did some force grab him in the woods?
Is he gone for goods?
Did I kill poor little G1NJRBR3D?
WAS IT ME?
Or was it cinna-bun … on the run … he’s got his gun. If you see him you are done, cinna-bun-bun-bun …
cinna-bun-bun … he walks the Earth driving his hearse where there is no sun …
I was able to remove the ear worm. It was grey and brackish and sad and lame.
It had scab eyes and a walnut brain.
It was tearing at my temporal lobe, chunks of brain flesh and girg.
I am left as Mr. Potato made me, full of zest and robusto.
I am ROBUSTO and so is G1NJRBRED.
Robusto extravagante style VOLCANO YACHT CLUB SEX TALES type living, with dolphin wine and raccoon cum and gopher sunsets.
Hammered and hungry, we’re breaking out to find new possibilities.
We’ve been STRUCK by the LOVE CURSE, and our HEARSE speeds away carrying our flesh burden and our desires.
We fold into the ground like hound dog warriors, and the mountains bend to our new fire posse.
TAKE HOLD of your emotion and FIGHT for your LIFE until the cities burn.
And among the urns labeled red and black somewhere near the back of the bus for the rest of us sat little G1NJRBR3D
