“Swear!” I said to him.
He did not.
“Swear!”
Ok, so he does now: “I swear never to put pictures of my butt online!”
“Mean it!”
He chops my face off with the tail of a dolphin. I am baffled, and I show it through dance.
He has the last laugh: Picadoo!
Dutifully Shamalika the Stromer bustles her handy pink pocky magic camera frothy forth to the frontier to cap cap capture that sensational hap hap happenstance. Stromer–her hot bf–stands idle but perky beside her wait wait waiting for the next flimsy furmorth to overtake the omnivorish whore beside him (or as he likes to say, “quiescent matron forgotten lonely–Barfth the wife.”) Slamalika The Stromer finshes and wrinkles a confused eyebrow toward the dead pixel battery cause no known. A hand more than ready to assist in a pinchy swish offers solacing strokes down the back of love love lover in hand. Now they look eye to eye and what do they do but polish nothingness into the dead end it has become through a kiss so habitual Love Dies. The Green between them meanders to caroon the pathos of mortal they. Shamalika the Stromer and Stromer, slugging feeling feet to beat the neat arrive, next stop, this place, food for the stomachs of those long tired from pictures and walking. Later, Shamalika wants Stromer to stop making that noise and they make Love again (recall it died earlier); they are Gods and Goddesses.
They live happily ever after.
Except that one time when they got divorced.
And they die as well.
I know
For I see
Her in every
Face
Even a
Speck
Resembling
That nose
Of the lioness
That skin
Of the sand
That wisdom
That blue life
That voice I cannot hear
And my
Heart
9 years later
Still
Leaps
Ah!
She is
My Love
But she
In
This life
Forgot
To feel the same
For me
And though
I remember
Like a toad
Hearing a
Toad
That I should forget
And
I talk looking
Expecting her to
Disappear
And
She’s not there
On the streets
In the sun
Or on the moon
And
I Have Looked
Everywhere
Trying not to find her
She is always here
Everywhere I look
Though not
But where
She is
…
And I am here
…
Every discrete joy
Is a substitute
For her
I cannot escape
But I cannot return
End
They they they they
Said Said Said
“Hey!”
I turned my head.
Whoosh!
“Buy buy buy!”
And I did!
But I don’t watch TV
So I don’t
Want want want
All the time
Am I American?
Did I actually buy that?
Faith eating candy sitting at a table. She silently bites the heads off the chewy bears.
Candy comes in. I dare Faith to be friends with her. Faith sees my dare and raises me three no ways.
Candy sees us and tries to give Faith a hug. Faith pretends to find happiness in the swirls of milk in her cappuccino. Candy could have gotten a hug from me–I am desperate–but she never looks at me. Candy takes out a machine gun and mimes murdering Faith. Faith is moved; a tear flows from her eye. She gives Candy a hug.
Their boobs touch. I mime disinterest. Faith knows me better than her cappuccino. She walks with Candy a short distance, whispers, and scoffs at me. I whisper, “I hate them anyway,” but privately covet both.
On the verge of a blessed discovery, the three of us simultaneously lose grasp of reality and forget where we are. When we arrive back in the present, Candy is Faith, and Faith is nowhere to be found. Candy forgets I am there, and finds an excuse to leave.
Finally. A table all to myself.
Faith whispers in my ear, “You are too pussy to love me.”
No she didn’t. She didn’t say that. I just imagined it. She would never say that.
I have a table all to myself.
Candy puts a ring on my finger and asks me to marry her. I say yes, worried about all the people looking at us.
We are in a zoo. Faith is caged and Candy and I are watching her. Faith growls and pulls at the bars. Candy kisses my cheek. I melt into an ice cream puddle. Faith pulls out a straw and sucks me up.
I am at a table BY MY SELF.
Candy–
Ahem. Alone. But oh so curious about Candy. Such a sweet gal.
Faith speaks, “Good story. I almost believed you might love someone else.”
I smile. “Me too.”
“I know you aren’t going to like this Faith, but I’m going to ask you to be nice,” says the teacher within me. She stands like course rivers of brick: still. “I am in need of gentle kindness.” She stirs inside, I can tell, because fire is dripping out of her ears. “Furthermore, you should always do what I ask.” I stand like I always do before others: ashamed.
“It is not my nature to be polite you know,” she states. There is a noticeably steady rhythm to the blinking of her eyelids. “If I acquiesce to your request, you will be a duck with no feet: lame.” Like clockwork she mocks me. “Is being nice doing the thing you want me to do, or doing the thing that is good for you?”
I want to ask her if there is anything wrong with a hug, but she seems to think that I am pathetic, so I cannot–dignity steers me lonely. She is speaking; I should be listening.
“…because your problems began 10000 years ago.” When she speaks, I swear that I love her and we belong together forever.
“Let’s say you me and get out of here and find a bucket of strawberries and a water bed,” I propose.
Faith sighs so deeply, I can hear her heart crack.
I wonder why I stand in judgment in my own stories.
I’d ask Faith to marry me, but she’s just a character I made up.
I still love her though.
She’s spunky and smarter than me.
“I love you and I want you to marry me,” I say to Faith.
She states as plain as yogurt: “No,” but finishes with, “It was nice talking to you.” She leaves like a day off from work: fast.
A wifeless day without Faith. How sad.
“I really want to write a blog post with dialogue,” said I, a wondrous hat beside me.
“Then you, marvelous homeopathic remedy that you are, should offer up a few course lines to the troubled masses,” said the hat.
A short stocky woman with hair exactly like mine sits down on my lap and starts begging the air for an angel. I, all the while, attempt to put the hat on her head. I fail; my arms are pinned.
“Here is where I’d say something slightly disturbing but accurate.”
I wonder who said that. It certainly was not me.
The moral of the story:
Don’t eat what you can’t
Share
AND…
Don’t love
In your underwear
WE’RE ALL NAKED SOMETIMES!
____
i WonDEr
wHyi
ThAAT
HappPeneED
thSi
MornNign
I research my sin
I post it on the internet
You cannot see it here
I am embarrassed
By the temperature of the sin
Not the content
If it believes
Shoot it
Says, “I like you,”
Shoot it
Gives you hope
Shoot it
Speaks well of you
You get the idea
Unless it’s me
Then don’t shoot
Kiss
Smooch!
That moment
That you hate your life
Watch
Just do that much
Watch
I did not say
Smile
When one day
Hitching up its suspenders
Is surprised at the
EASE
or
QUIET
or
JOY
And that day thinks
Careful careful
Days like this
PASS
And next day
Comes around
And thinks
Careful careful
Days like this
PASS
But equipped with
Memory
Remembers that it
Thought that yesterday
And further thinks
Usually
When NEXT day
Hops in
It starts with
Careful careful
Days like this
PASS
Continues with
Usually
And ends with
But maybe not today
And the next day
Repeats everything
Amends
But this
Be it odd
May be
Possible
And the next day
Holds hands
With every thought
And thinks
[....]
And thinks
[....]
And smiles
[....] (It is possible; it is here.)
And the next day…
That you as an hyper happy ant notion
You got going
That flailing laughing insane whipping about
You have there
Falls apart during day 1
Of your eventual convalescence
I didn’t want you to be
Surprised that healing
Starts off with
Demolishing your entire
Fabricated
Persona
And ends
A thousand lifetimes
Later
Mr. Beezinox was a remnant of a foreign age, so he called himself Sugarhelm. Needless to say, everyone called him Helmy. Helmy Beezinox, finding himself breathing within the fifteenth equinox of one rather late but illustrious decade, decided that enough was enough, porn needed to die. He stated his feelings to the mirror while brushing his teeth one morning; the toothpaste and spittle that indelibly sprinkled themselves onto his mirror sullied his thrifty moral proclamation.
Due to a fortunate and happy childhood, and a distinctive dash of effluent prosperity in his young adult years, Sugarhelm decided that he would give back by pretending to be unhappy and poor. As a matter of course, Beezinox wore shabby clothes, blushed when asked to pay for a meal, and publicly refrained from purchasing showy or extravagant items, even for his bathroom.
As befits a man who pretends to be shoddy, Sugarhelm proclaimed for himself a porn addiction, only now and then perusing the naughtiness in order to stay current. This proclamation greatly benefited his stature; no one doubted he had had a poor and undignified upbringing–some even thought he was a homosexual. Keeping up the pretension had not been difficult–no one wanted to talk about things so immoral–but recently things had taken a turn for the real: Helmy found himself actually becoming who he pretended to be.
Thus, Sugarhelm endeavored to create a symphony of change. The first movement began as a whisper in his mind: One needs friends to execute an undertaking of this magnitude. One needs money too.
The second movement shined like butter on a giant muffin: I must show how much suffering it causes. I must become the sufferer.
The third chimed a touch sensible: It must be perfect.
A tempered but sad emergence of his unfortunate and yet curable despair–despair caused by the worsening of an already well known addiction–would suit his purposes. He would plea for help. He would beg to sleep on the floor of his most illustrious friends. He would refrain from showering. He would refuse food. He would cancel all appointments. He would demand that a foundation be set up to support others like him, that he be taken on and up to speak at conferences, at wars, at universities.
By lunch, he had changed his mind.
I am sitting in the result of not working enough in September. I am on a budget of spend no money. It makes spending a tender and intimate experience.
It is pretty lonely though.
I am playing Starcraft 2. I love video games. Why don’t I have any friends that do?
Play Starcraft 2 with me. Gwr is my name. I play Zerg.
GWWWWWWRRRRRRR!
http://us.battle.net/sc2/en/profile/1512485/1/Gwr/
I have to save some $$, so I might be doing this stuff in my apartment for a while.
Eh.
It’s fun, but I wish you’d play with me. That’d be more fun.