The Naked Lunch

The “…” follower is gone.

Your regular viewer in Israel has not been viewing since last week.

MJ still hasn’t called, and the Israeli viewer is gone.

MJ looks to be gone.

You shouldn’t have ranted at Chief. The lynchpin of hope looks to be gone.

You don’t shower or shave.

Caterpillar is lying. Running off by herself. Some new boy.

Caterpillar doesn’t want to spend summer in Mexico with us.

Israel is opening for tourists, but deportees can’t enter without visas.

The consulate doesn’t answer e-mails or phone calls.

X-23 says she will be Mr. Wolf, but she hasn’t yet.

Chief says he won’t be Mr. Wolf.

You don’t clean the apartment.

You’re wasting away in Belgrade.

After two months in Belgrade, it’s still just you and Bucky.

You hardly see Bucky.

MJ Cool tried to tempt you. One of twenty temptresses lately.

You tried to save MJ Cool, and she disappeared.

You don’t know what to do about Ena.

Ena needs a nickname.

The maestro treats you like shit because you don’t pay attention to him.

You abandon the maestro, and he’s hurt.

Nobody sees you, knows you, or understands you.

You cannot talk to anyone you know, understand, see, or love.

You cannot go to the nation you love.

You cannot convert in Israel.

To convert abroad, you have to live in a place for a year.

You cannot convert in Belgrade. You have to leave.

You cannot get to Israel by marrying a wife you don’t know or love.

You’re too strange for a wife anyway.

You can’t look for a wife without giving up on MJ.

MJ hasn’t called. You can’t give up on MJ.

Caterpillar is jealous of X-23 and MJ. She thinks you hate her. She finds sustenance in boys, isolation, independence, and darkness.

Only X-23 volunteered to be Mr. Wolf.

You love X-23 so much, you’re so damned grateful, you might break barriers and screw up your weird, beautiful thing with her.

MJ kept you in line, but MJ is probably gone.

Caterpillar would fall off a cliff if you lost your bearing with X-23.

You don’t change your clothes.

You got a new follower. A new site. A poem about hope. It fits too much.

You cannot think clearly enough to leave a comment.

Your personality has been pitted perfectly against itself.

The world around you has been pitted perfectly against you.

You thought about wanting to die, but became afraid.

You wonder why you were afraid of death. That’s not supposed to happen.

You prayed an angry prayer and cried.

The absolute perfection of the impossibility of your situation proves that God exists, but it says God is not making a way. Anywhere. On any level.

You wonder if you can think clearly enough to get your plane ticket out of here.

You wonder where you would go.

You could convert with Jews in California, New York, or Florida.

Your nephew is in movies and making scripts in New York.

You want to make scripts out of your novel and story ideas.

California is close to X-23 and Caterpillar and one of your rabbis.

Your dad is in Florida. He thinks you’re depressed and need to come to him to watch Fox News with him.

Your dad has been wrong about that, but you’re having a depressive episode today. Today he is correct. Florida sounds nice.

They wear masks and use vaccine passports in California and New York, but not in Florida.

Caterpillar needs you, but doesn’t want you to help her.

You’re writing sentences in the style of a William S. Burroughs novel.

The devil has done his job today.

If your flesh were under control, if your animal soul were in line, this wouldn’t be a problem.

Watch some TV, and see if God answers your prayer tomorrow.

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