Slam poetry. Yelling. Angry. Waving my hands a lot. Specific point of view on things. Cynthia. Cyn-thi-a. Jesus died for our Cynthia’s. Jesus cried. Runaway bride. Julia Roberts. Julia rob-hurts. Cynthia. Mmmmm Cynthia, you’re dead. You are dead. Be boop beep you’re dead.
I woke up. The pain and sickness all over me like an animal. Then I realized what it was. The music coming up from the floor was our old friend, Ludwig Van, and the dreaded Ninth Symphony. (A Clockwork Orange, 1971)