starfuckers unite
for two noteworthy events
maybe not two. but one.
broken into two
outside of the normal. I get to sing Thursday, too.
And I have been thinking more about people’s obsessions in being defined by “who you know”.
like I care, Like I give a fuck who you know
what party you are invited to
who fuckin sucks your dick to get a “gig”
I wanna know
who you are, what makes you tick, what makes you scream
what makes you believe
I hate icons, and despite whatever bedding it makes for your bank
I don’t give a fuck. Being an icon removes all humanity, all chance to really be understood. because you stop being a person, then
you then become a star fucker or someone who stars while getting fucked
Who wants to. who asks to. I never cared.
I wanna know what makes you bleed. I wanna know what you perceive. I wanna know where it all goes
when you lay your head down at night. maybe alone. maybe dreaming.
maybe they all think of nothing
I like being human. mortal. immortal assholes end up being a bad book, a bad, dusty cd in the garage of some other asshole, or someone who wants to be a has been instead of an I am.
I am deanna motherfucker. take it or shove it up your ass.
