the script for "Trigger Ballads", a dance composition and recording

Creeping cigars taste similar to your unknowing elbow, wretched roller skates trip and fall into the boons, a cart full of hay lays the waste I never knew. Busy. Tacks and bullets and screaming banchees wait for me in the bank card, sliding, dripping with invalid bold print on a receipt. In 1965 a soul rocketed eted eted off the river-bank into making babies. Dirty children with saliva old fish scales and plastic bottle bags hanging from their limbs, broken from the start. And he says it’s the Russian effect, special effects of lighting bolts with thundering clouds marketed so you're scared. Yes, it works, creepy sinister film marketed so you’re scared no longer invalid of the pretentious early work remarkable in its study of whales and crocodiles. By chance you say yes and become an extra in the industry, just one along the line of many, opening the mouth in fake awe hoping to get a glimpse on yourself on the playback. My parents were extras, and yes no we all are as well, watching the fake King Kong fall from the remake of the twin towers, falling falling falling falling. Falling! But Kong never crashes, only lingers and is rewound to go to the top, again.

No more story telling, that’s enough of that.

Yea wait scratch that. The ship is sinking, the ship is sinking, the ship is sinking, the ship is sinking. The ship is sinking! The ship is sinking ball point certificates faded finger points, yet again. Again finger points pointing at the finger with the finger, on it, with, all around. Edited etchings and a blue-light illuminating lobsters, and a table with five boots in a circle kicking you out. Kicking you off, kicking you out. A boot goes round in five, it’s red, blue, purple, pink…but nothing. Actually it’s nothing. It’s all in my imagination, I mean this really doesn’t exist. I’m just making it up so I hope that it happens, so that I hope that I have something to write about when I go back home tonight. About the colors, and like rooftop junking, aero-top dynamics, rocketing, lights. But it doesn’t really exist, because the ship is sinking, I mean it really is.

Makes my fingers enlarge wow this is a miracle can’t believe this is happening discriminating my fingernail, donkey, tell me why my mind keep expanding but my body stays the same I can’t understand. I'll ask The Rachels for advice seeming to divide this line between conquering and ignorance. Tell all. Tell me do you prefer sweet or dry? Dry will not be suitable always, yet certain circumstances demand the dry perception of your persona and revealing anything but being fake we'll watch a movie and pretend we're someone else for a weekend, or four hours. For hours? Four hours. Hours hours drop slowly. Hours hours drop slowly in the cabin fever time pulling strands of hair from my comb which enlarge this trip. Lets go for a walk to cleanse our souls, and specifically create a difference between us and them. It'll be well worth it, I pinky swear I will forge that these bangs under my eyes are not wrinkles but only signs of my stress leaking from a brain needing a tangible outlet, outrageous responses to the condemning lyrics of musicals, in Venice, winter storms lead you to your prey. Am I talking gibberish? I hope so. I hope so.

Check. Check.

We're on and on breaking dawn, chit chattering and moving these pawns to unravel the game and be kinged; sweet silver knight grasp the lovely-locks and move two steps to the first-fighted bishop, withdrawing the ultimate place from the game, creating coy nerve-ending shell of pieces left untamed, unfinished, unwanted. Check.