Live fast, die fast,
eating instant
ramen noodles.
How's that
for an opening line?

They're not as instant
as you might think, though.
I had to wait two whole minutes
for those bad boys to cook.

That's like three hundred
TikTok videos.
But I wouldn't know,
because I was born
way back when.

I grew up playing RuneScape
on a dial-up modem.
My mom couldn't talk
to her sister on the phone
because I was close to reaching
level 23 in woodcutting.

What can I say
you have to sacrifice some things
in order to perfect your craft.
But don't hold it against me,
I was merely nine years old,
so give me a break.

Speaking of which,
the best plumber I ever knew
was an Italian called Mario.
God knows he had to
make some sacrifices.

I met him once,
and I said,
“Thanks for your effort, man,
but my princess
is in the other castle!”

Yeah, she has a name.
What I remember
most vividly
was the way she held
her ice cream spoon
like a cigarette.

I've noticed that I've
started looking
in the rear-view mirror
more frequently.
My twenties passed me by
like a Ferrari
on a freeway.

And don't tell anyone,
but I keep coming back
to that moment
when our hands
spoke an ancient language
in the morning mist.

Do you remember
my last cigarette,
on that balcony
in Germany?

That was life in a oncetime,
and we were lost somewhere
between Venus and a bottle.

If only you were
kinda into
the guy that I
see in the mirror every morning.
I think we would
make a good team,
but what the hell do I know?

Between the two of us,
though,
you always were
the true magician with words.
It should come as
no surprise,
with the kind of trials
you've been through.

After all,
authenticity
and the Freudian death drive
have always been siblings.
But you taught me
that some people
are born into the wrong family.

I miss the look in your eyes
when you connect yourself
to the astral realm
before you start speaking.

And the meaning
that you ascribe to the words
when you let them roll
gently
over the tip
of your tongue.

You have no idea
what that does to me.
Every syllable you summon
is an ontological knife
that slices through
the myelin sheaths
of my neural pathways.

You're a psychedelic substance
laced with makeup glitter
after a night out
in Kreuzberg.
Yeah,
I used to live for that shit.

I could hear the other guests
whispering my name
as I stumbled off the stage.
“He writes like
a Mesopotamian god,
but he can't even walk straight.”

I just went
right back to the mic
and called them out:
“If you're gonna talk shit about me,
then do it behind my back next time,
because I don't want to hear it!”

Be honest though,
which one would you
rather choose?
Walking straight?
Yeah, good choice.

“I want the names
of everyone
who booed at me last night!”
Do you remember that quote?
It's not on the internet,
so don't bother searching.

I forgot to tell you,
but I wrote him
a letter last month.
The only thing I got back
was an overdue invoice
from my landlord.

Anyway,
I'll leave you guys
with the same thing
I told him.

“I need to step away now,
I'm about to take a stroll
in the garden
at the end of the universe.”
How's that
for a closing line?