Some days are heavier than others.
The gravity gets bolder.
Caught in the drag, in the sink.
In the down-too-low.
Cut strips off pylons and glow in the wound.
Spit 'til your wrappings.
Days like that.
The days they made out of sight out of mind for.
But when you're never out of sight?
But when you're never out of mind?
When you don't get an excuse?
Just figures in silhouette over orange as a railroad recoils.
The days that split out of you grow wings and escape.

Love,
the dead minotaur

If you're like me, you weren't at the wrap party for The Roomies.
You were too busy not being cool enough.
Like me.
Well, don't take it so hard.
Like me.
Find out what you missed.


Don't be all sore about it.
Like me.

Love,
the dead minotaur

As you may have guessed, I'm a person of no little interest.
No little interest whatsoever.
Just the big stuff, baby.
The kind of stuff that'd make me the star of one hell of a documentary, you figure.
Do you figure?
I figure.
But even better that?
Starring in a fake documentary.
Like these.


Or even better?
Pretending to star in a fake documentary.
And lying about it afterwards.
Now we're getting somewhere.
See you on set.

Love,
the dead minotaur

So I thought to myself, whatever happened to them Mongrel guys?
Did they die?
Are they dead?
Or what?
I mean, they can't expect me to keep this place up on my lonesome.
It's lonely.
So's I kicked up the wire and shifted into the usual signal, transmit-coasting 'til I'm answered.
Harshly, as is the tendency.
So's I ask, "what gives, you dead?"
So's they say, "what gives, no."
So's I say "prove it then, send me a new Orcakinder"
And the weird thing?
They did.


Which isn't like them at all.
I will get to the bottom of this as soon as I start to care again.

Love,
the dead minotaur