A dormitory

2 beds 8 people, needless to mention every non-flammable surface ashtray. Tic tocking cat clocks juxtaposed by burn phones and a broken flashing lamp. 2 turn-tables faced east for morning meditations on acid-funk-psychedelia turned yoga sutra. "No strung out junkies in this jungle" carvings at each doorway, upon closer examination just the one. Banana peels were so prevalent slapstick comedians would ooze drool upon sight, small bird carcasses littered around on mismatched china doing the same to cats.

Pheasant-ville, tempo-town, a sideways slum, the mocking mutterings of a doorman bouncer provide the insanity distraction for the cracked thou-shall-not-pass. I live in the one room dormitory and I scream when I don't get my way. Gone beyond the trick turning temptation of easier cohabitation and divine cleanliness, I smell the truth, fuck seeing it. So give in to the pretzel sleep sycophants whose feelers feel around you and on you as you count sheep. Counting too often with another's reading-seeing-eating-art light on. When you stretch your tired face in the A.M., lion-like know, you can do the same.

Why yes, Watson

When I was a young lass, dressed all in skirts and bows I had an especial fondness for french braiding all the sinuous fiber I could get my tiny nails on. Of course, my temple was a constant playing field for this. Oh! and the fondness I had for camp. All the heads in the world to french braid. The fools. Pigtails and curly locks. Blasphemy. Freyja came to my dreams, "Slay the other girls dear child. Their hair reaches far from their bodies, grasping for impurity. It shall steal your thoughts and tie your perfect braiding hands together."

Awakening in a panic, I did not scream. A short gasp with clasped hands was the extent of my outburst. I peered beyond my bunk. A room full of french braids confused me, what was Freyja talking about. I had conquered this land with my sinewy digits. Then it occurred to me, perhaps the other rooms hadn't received my communion. My fingers knotted for my goddess, it was imperative that I redeem myself in the eyes of my lady.

I crept beyond my cell, having received the sign. The creaking of screen doors was my only worry, for I knew my capabilities well. My hair-crossing skills would not disappoint this fine eve. Into the world of the Chickadees I crept, on toes and fingertips, building strength. My head darting left and right, appalled at the sight of frilly unkempt hair.

I crept silently strangling each young girl, only after having taken care of the counselor who slept nearest the door. They would not have willingly let me twist their twine-like locks. I dragged their pale pink flannel covered corpse to the middle of the room. Sitting crossed-legged I began my task, slowly braiding each girls head to the girl next to her. My 9 headed french-braid, too long had such perfection desired to be freed from the beyond.

Freyja smiled upon me and my temple of 9 year old blonds.