OUTER REACHES

Slip the razor blades into the dune, at the crest of the hill. You’ll be interrupted by that whore in green velvet. But don’t stop. This task is more important than anything she’ll have to say. She’ll make promises, passes. The dress may come off at some point. Whatever happens, you have to finish before the sun sets. This is imperative. Just keep telling yourself, "She’s not really there." None of them are there. Every woman you meet is fog, nothing more. Their voices or screams? Wind through the sequoias.

The only thing free in this world is sorrow.

You just plant those blades. Somebody will thank us in a thousand years. They’ll dig them up from the ocean floor long after the world is covered in rainwater. Razor blades rusted. That and gold teeth will be the only things that we’ll be remembered for.

Time to go. Forget the mask. Now, you no longer have anything to hide.




-SLL