I am the Marquis de Sadness,
heart blatantly on sleeve (tat
tooed underneath in case of
sleevelessness), loving every
lugubrious minute of it. Pre
sently, the sound that the
pornography makes is as
equidistant from me as either
hopes or fears. Present circum
stances disallow my comfort
zone from being swallowed
up like a very ripe banana.
Sure, you can say “I told you
so,” only to be eaten by a
velociraptor in the morn
ing (mañana). Try not to
tell me so afterwards be-
cause I already ate the
future just to get here in
time to tell you this now.
