Tied to our Bedpost

One o'clock and the walls whirr and hum into full swing - mad fighting voices rise up next door, reaching a boiling point, woman carries on yelling.
Doors open and close shut, real angry. Doors, balconies, hedges, if the hedges were pulled down a field of swaying... would soon flood over and carry it all to the elevator, where he leaves, door bangs, real heavy. It's over for tonight I think, but mad boils, never boils off fully. Perpetually reinforcing bottle, emotions condense and boil again, furious. Here, and I am sitting impotently on the other side of the wall that goes, boom, boom, blast. "Fuck you". Spells over and runs to the well, crying, crying and pulling hair, to the tub, still more pills to stick in your hole, panic rush and vomit, sleep, it'll all be over soon. But he's back again tomorrow, go to your mother's, he can't find you there, you say, until he comes banging, he wants the kid, but this is all getting a little too cliche, comme une formule. Tom's Variety, they refill ink, signature drawled across paper, now you're here, a lifetime; wait I think I hear consummation against the wall, my ears pressed and more, on the other side they're fucking. We messed it up again, you've filled the bottle right up. Fed, head, and he's back out the door. I can't understand these people any better,
tourist.

"You become what you worship", speaks the ant as it scales up the mound, past the mushrooms feeding patiently on detritus. Heavyweight crumb on its shoulder, up, up the mount.

There's food for all.

Pesach is upon us, and we must slaughter the image of what we have become,

passive. 

The second floor must be real high for you... you got a nosebleed? Camera pans onto the bloodstained mattress. O' caucasian female - how did you die? You bled so much. Sheep, tied to the bedpost.

He knew the life of the mind, the heat of hell, don't you tell him about suffering, don't you dare come in here,

tourist,

typewriter in tow,

this is my story.

It'll be alright, we'll fix her up.

They would tame a group of reindeer, by castrating the most aggressive male, tying up ball-shaped bells round his neck; he would lead the rest. Spread the word, Moshe!