insect

...or make a nest in my hair thickets where they will have incendiary debates every morning and evening about the nature of subjective realities and how the menstrual cycles of honeybees relates to the the constantly expanding multi-verse, over sips of turkish coffee and various teas of the South American rain forest which Bugman acquired last winter while trekking through the Peruvian Amazon - between intently puffing on organic tobacco cigarettes that Mothman brought from West Virginia last Wednesday. i will have burning nag champa incense sticking out of my ears. always.

Reject will sit and watch, sipping drearily on a flask of some unknown alcoholic beverage, probably Absinthe sent in a green package from his grandmother in her cottage just North of Holland - only pretending to understand or care about the nature of these, to him, balderdash discussions, while secretly forming my dark strands into thin, tight, nappily frizzled dreadlock gardens, in randomized patches of sacred-geometric patterns with his brittle nimbly fingers, which will prove to be quite a cozy rest-home for passing birds, traveling South for the coming winter..

even the robotic ones.