Instructions

Sometimes lately I feel icky and average. Like a statistic. That is bunny's least favorite feeling. I call it "Roadkill".

Being a casualty of someone else's getting to know themselves. Is there like, a less interesting role to be relegated to? Historically speaking? I fucking HATE the commonness of it. I hate that I could pick up any trashy magazine in any salon anywhere and read my latest adventure in its pages.

It makes me feel gaggy and a little bit like a champagne glass with fingerprints on it.

Pitiful. The signal of the end of the Party.

Historically speaking. Even if a person is on their way to being something incredibly fucking awesome and noteworthy. Well. Their last time biting off more than they could chew isn't really what anyone's gonna want to talk about afterward, is it?

No. The official story, the one in history books, would start fresh.

And I want to be the Fresh Slate. Only. Always.

Anything else is a pretty weak showing. Unremarkable. An Embarrassment.

Yeah. Sorry. That's kind of how it's all panned out.



Common. Yawn.

*********

Bunny's most favorite feeling? Dinner - and I don't have to pay for it - at the Cliffhouse. At least in the last week or so. They give me raw honeycomb with my plate of cheeses and even better? No crazyface when I ask them to burn my steak.

And the view. The view is every possibility you could ever think of. It fills me with sighs.

I want every wish I ever have to come true, always for the better.

I want to stretch this state of grace out forever and ever.

I want endless beginnings. Fuck your endings.

They are predictable, and they make me yawn.

Goodnight.