Invocation of the Muse

 Hey faggot!...  You--faggot motherfucker in the brown hat!

(That would be me.  And the hat is more of a camel color...but, whatever.  The voice accosting me is squeaking out of a 12-yr-old with black hair, sitting up a tree in his pajamas.)

"What do you want, Damian?"

Ohh, good one, GenX.  I just want you to get your shit straightened out.

"You think I don't?  I'm trying--"

'I'm lost, whine.  There's something missing, whine.  I don't know what's going on.'

"You sound like a chew toy."

Well *you* sound like a bitch!  Falling asleep in front of the news with a beer you can't even finish?  You should be channeling spirits like a fucking table thumper!  You should be fever dreaming 5-star Michelin sex parties!

"What?"  (Now who's squeaking?)

Music of the Spheres, homo!  You promised me poetry!

(And with that, he screwed up his face and threw handfuls of spiny balls at my head.  When I looked back, he was gone, without a scramble.)