If you’re stuck on the moon and you can’t get home, or if the drugs you took earlier have you convinced that you’re being followed around by some really intelligent machines from another planet, who keep whispering dirty jokes just behind your ears.

I could go for some of that, I could go for a mad tear; a run down through Mexico, robbing banks and sleeping atop ancient temple rooftops. Battling the corruption of this world through a infestation of viral ideas manifesting as evil insect armies. And dancing! Dancing like we got spiders in our spines! Dancing like it’s foreplay for a really good conversation.

And let me tell you, I like me some good conversation.
Eat it up with a spoon I will, all day long.

You should totally message me if you’ve read, or are, The Invisibles.

Said The Jack:

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”