![cover of HOH - The David Magazine. Photo is of my face on the body of John Trent from the beginning of John Carpenter's 'In The Mouth Of Madness' curled in a ball in a padded cell, with crosses drawn all over the walls, his scrubs, and his skin (and my face) with black crayon. I also have a snail climbing on my head and on my (Trent's) arm. Big headline: OOPS! I DID IT AGAIN! I needed another cocoon... ...because you needed another election with a treasonous nazi rapist on the ballot, for some fucking ungodly reason that will never be held accountable in utter defiance of what is right. Under the magazine's logo it says: Special Stream-of-Consciousness Edition. in the lower left corner, with a semi-transparent white tiger superimposed behind it, is a gold sawtooth circle saying: BONUS: TWO music analysis essays inside!! and a headline in the lower righthand corner reads: SOCIAL MEDIA BLACKOUT: WHAT XXV DAYS WITHOUT NEWS DOES TO A MF [MENTALLY-ILL FRIEND]. It also says “…and by God, some breakthroughs!!” in the lower left corner.](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQePm9aN5eoTyy7iuFuZeZeUQ1c-Oc3tf987iDNT9xd_LJergWAh2vaVGuhP0qUzsGjwfC5UzkfNeujPDzrbe3dspPi6MwgbrDfDR6WXJvpQaV4KjnIMoqgMMSnzkB9SXjRrYJlBULPFrl81nVK8AfxGH0VJvcs-ngnnJZ7TAv2BIfXnm_3Il0QG8y5s/s1164/HOH%20Mag%20Cover%20for%20Cocoon%202.png "welcome to my padded cell")
back behind the barricade, the barracuda bites at my brain, the buyout of buoyancy to balance a book or two, before beginning to face a bitter embrace. beneath the binary, do I boast or bury in a busy blush. do I block a bruise, do I better myself from break or bend. beckons, the cocoon. can I covertly circumvent context, or do I merely cover conviviality with continual cortex concern. come come, cozy yourself and connect with my disconnected, discombobulated, disorganized dig-down doozy of a dugout.
