bug eyes doing anything
My breath is black. I’m no mathematician. I landed on a weird square, so I sat down for a little more. You’re with me, Nature Man, here in your eyes. I could fry an egg. Don’t be frightened by the howl of the wolf wind and don’t let the manic cries of the bobcats upset you one bit, little darling — I’m an escape artist and the author of this pamphlet. We’re getting close to the point where I say, Good Luck.
I played football in 3rd grade with one of those kids. I lent him my helmet once and never saw it again. Sidewalk surfer, whirley bird: spinning away, following some strange sounds in your hot air balloon or what-have-you — I can’t stand the pressure anymore — I’m pushing the button.
The next time you do that, I’m going to write in your notebook. I spent the night in a flower pot with a praying mantis wearing a green sweater. She told me to relax, as if she had all the answers.