Attention, Team Vanisher. The first moment you’ve stepped over that stone wall, you’ve trespassed into our universe. Today, all interest in you dies. We can turn a blind eye to your every disorder, but we can never forget that you are, to all intents and purposes, alive. You are the sun … forever. We can’t help you. We love you, but we can’t help you.
You’ll love gorgeous weather. I know this forecast is not like it was in April 2016. It was so perfect — so all about that hot sun. But this new forecast is about an array of rosy colors, both deep red and funky yellow. Also, if your co-workers are any indication, you might have a few red solo cups.
But you will have a headache from the ozone-destroying aircraft returning from your first epic helicopter tour of the new NASA rocket plant. Hopefully the sun will glimmer through your vision a bit so you don’t have to worry about your eyesight.
Sit in the Sun’s orbit. You’ll love feeling her fiery earth over your shoulders while you gaze up at the galaxy over your head. Your instinct will be to reach out to your cosmic mother, Neptune, but she’ll be too busy serving your need for sensation and pathos. You’ll get a sad spotlight in your subconscious that will, no doubt, come to light soon.
You may love screwing yourself to the point of nausea. It could be an asteroid or a rock, but it will be because you’re trying to find a way to feel good about yourself in an arena in which you’re constantly at war with your toxic outer skin. It will feel like there’s a bionic tattoo that lets you channel tribal warrior sweat and angelic tears through your veins.
To those who care:
You are the Sling. I’m merely the Bose.
You say, “Her eyes are bigger than my head.”
She says, “Yes, but they aren’t mine.”
She says, “You’re tan.”
You say, “No, I’m not.”
You say, “Yes, but I’m in a bikini.”
He says, “Eyes on low now, lady.”
You say, “No, the hotel bill from a burned-out eucalyptus room needs paying.”
She says, “Yes, but you’re right.”
She says, “I’m black.”
You say, “I’m black.”
He says, “I’m straight.”
She says, “Do I get free first-class meal service?”
You say, “Yes, but we’re on the moon.”
You say, “I’m blonde.”
He says, “No, but the plane is full of blonde passengers.”
You say, “No, but you would be at the front.”
She says, “And I’m crazy.”
You say, “Yes, but you’re sick.”
She says, “I’m mad as hell.”
You say, “I’m a mechanic.”
He says, “Then don’t fly.”
You say, “Let’s do this.”
She says, “No way.”