In the Basement ~ Friday, June 5, 2026
I am so quiet, even mice whisper as to listen to my thoughts about rice maybe they think I know Mumble Bunny so to spin lettuce without a crisper ordinarily, I speak to no one questions arise whether I live for spice understand, we will never meet, funny in a silent way, how deadly, kiss me even if you get my jokes, is it fun to speak with a poet, or a madman even the mice whisper thoughts in my ears very often, I wake up just to scan eternity in a nutshell, his fears none less than Prince Hamlet, bad dreams, you see mice whispering in my ears while I sleep in the dark, I cannot find my way home comb the streets for my corpse, I must be dead even if we meet, not even a peep whispered into my ears by mice, the spice however, in my brain, under the dome inside my cranium, my skull, unfed special sauce lacks garlic, what is the point perhaps, to eat meatballs with orzo rice each to their own, is that not what she said rings as Sicilian anelli pasta if we met, we c...