"I sing the breakfast electric. In a world without pity, I mess with metres, in an ion-stream chaos divorced from dream. The eggs shoot sparks. Fires pattern the dark, visible from afar, all the way from Lucifer to Odin’s open bar. Yes, my human friends, I sing the breakfast electric supported by a lingering Tesla cruelty but mitigated by alternating leaves of grass. A crow and a bluejay square off in the window tree. They won’t back down nor pass. I sing the breakfast electric like the teenage girl who cuts herself to confirm that she can feel, but I’m still fucking sitting here pretending all is fucking real. I sing the breakfast electric to the bluejay and the crow, because I have a fragile suspicion that one of the them must know. But, damn it to hell, they won’t tell." (Image from Valerie)
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The secret word is Dazed
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