We get up.

We get up. Oh how we zig. I'm the puff from a bee sting, all welts and rose. I'm the electric eel, all piss and sake. I ride my bike down the biggest hills and hold back on the brakes. I'm going to whir into your garden, push spokes through hydrangea. Smash myself into your roller door, topple your birdbath, let the petals fly.

Daylight savings. Referendum.

Col Barnetta and the Tombstone Grill. Nibble nose.

Shai Hulud. Hearts Once Nourished. The artwork for the new album (newer album) is horrendous. It pretty much fell apart after the first LP. I want to hear about hating the human race, hopelessness and doom, not dragons and deathglam misfires. It's like the rap game, knee deep in the crack game. I don't want to hear about bbqs and positivity. I need to hear about selling kilos of coke and letting clips drop, black steel, crybabies and the great ghostdieni. Scrubbing my wallabies down with my Illmatic toothbrush. Moesha, you a bag o'chips and all dat.