Only Just: Exploits of a dark matter technician, Part FoUr

LIFET LIVYTH

         

Speaking backwards to the dog because I know he understands. My nephew’s mother is not here, I have not seen her again this year. My own mother took me to a 3D movie yesterday and the megastore today while I played albums in both directions. Tea, incense, and songs are in a sense ideal timers.

        My room is a portion of the family room separated by a folding screen. This is where I am while I’m here but this time maybe it’s not just a place, because I don’t have one, not one I expect to return to. Now this is a home within a home, up and away and so removed. I am taken care of at unknown expense.

        I’m rough at the neck without razors and well fed so I have a state of concentration. Men and women are not my concern as I deal with neither, only warm reflections and microscopic fundamentals.

        My time has come and settled in darkness. I miss no one I never realize, I am not actually concerned when it all is such a joke. Nobody pays attention if they don’t care, if they don’t feel like it. Right place, right time to remember something someone else wrote down. I will never get in because I’m not out, my variable presence is so thoroughly misunderstood because it seems cheap. It is cheap. It’s redundant, cliche and stupid, thoughtful regurgitated depressing hogwash fuckall bestial lovely plainclothesman, synchronized organisms.

April May

         

I’m in a fictional relationship, with a beautiful fictitious girl. She reminds me of the spring, just before the world becomes unbearable again. Her voice melts as I speak to her, the flame invisible that burns us up alive. Self fulfilling immolation. My being is meaningless without her, without her love, respect and understanding, without her eyes of slaughter, meeting mine. I am entranced at the peak of inspiration, a loss of worlds at the landscape of rolling shoulders and shadows. Join us now in unending focus, where attributes and properties are ours alone. We have sought recognition in those that say no, we have impressed upon them our undying passion, remaining thrill of mechanics. Did they send me here to win her, because the cost is great. I have only everything to lose, tripping and falling all expenses paid. I do not want to share our warmest secrets, suspended in splendor with shady wings magnificent. I don’t because I can’t, defeating purpose and meaning. I’ve lost my way into hiding, her exploits are the skyscraper pinnacle of life and all exuberant nature. It only hurts to be away while I can, while I can stomack it, because I’ve learned to starve my human spirit, the one who endured those years of abuse and darkness for benefit, profit. We vibrate together wherever we are, undeniably, from the core of hope and belief. I only ran away when she did, I cried when it rained, the day she left. Its okay, we’ll find each other some tomorrow, its not a trick. They want what’s best for you and me. It’s impossible to detail such exquisite design tonight. I am not tired, I’ve simply realized myself as the dreamer, only sleeping for her.

COMING FOR GRANTED

“I wrote the book on time travel”

I can’t believe that people are still concerned with their comfort, that the world is still flat but not quite a square yet.

Everything happens for a reason, especially discord. When I am strung up and out at least I know there’s still strings that hang to be pulled.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from the sting it’s that you should never trust a marx. I don’t know the difference between a moustache, but distractions come in all shapes and sizes. If you’re not a bad guy or a good guy then you’re not a main character. People often ask me how I expect to make a living, or money for that matter, because making a movie is expensive. But time is money and it’s all about who you know, regardless of cliche. The truth is, all of us are victims of embellishment, while many if not most are victims of linguistics.

Unbeknownst: Exploits of a dark matter technician, Part thrEE

          

“Americans do not know rest. They know work and play and all else is hidden behind their willful ignorance. They spit on fish and teach duck to swim. I am proud of them and their input, their influence on my life. That is why we have chosen the best of them, to get his point across and to save the herd.

          “I know I do not speak for many when I say there is no peace for the wicked. They know not what they do only until after they do it.”

-Dr. Mark Stenson, the H.D.C.

Bastard Nation

Legalize What

American Disease

Deaf Café

Dream Come True

A Void Dance

Moving Picture

Written Water

Map of Europe

PROWORTH

the yesterday of tomorrow

X     The Product of Good is a Product of EVIL

HAPPIE’S DAILY BREAD                                                  

10/15/57

          Fact brings us what fiction doesn’t. Which comes first the stove or the oven? Everything will work out in the everything will work out in the end. Time deserved as money spent. Write as if you meant to say it, no thought to what might know. Rushing from the dazzling fascet. Wearing the clown. Suit your case your upset palindrome. Cease to become in vegetative fruition, no room for vacant stairs going up coming down. Lesbian potpourri, dividing home and less, expunge or excuse the drug order referee. Arbitrary armistice, spare feelings of lying on the cold cold cold. Haven of prismatic subtleties, nineteen left in the early morning. I told you this wouldn’t calm down and so you turned your bedside to the cheek and called it neworldordor. NeworlDodor. Nuerldorgy. Members of constants lend me your penknife as I surely write this down. Things leapt from a flustered mind across the lot and apon a crumbling billfold. Disaster. Nuance. Leptosy! I am a stricken mantis of ergonomic proportion. Haven of prismodic pleasantEAS that haven been a round too long. They like it because they know they’re right. She doesn’t love herself anymore and never again. It was lost to the fire in the sky that one, came in and went just like I told it would. I haven taught you anything if you still don’t know. Everything will work out in the everything will work out in the everything will work out in the

Synopsis for interviewer

          Her eyes were like sunsets just after lunch. Though she sat only on the other side of the table she doesn’t realize it’s her I’m thinking of. And how could she? Much like a version without consideration. . . she’s been around the block a few times but is tired of the same old schtick if you know what I mean. She’s tried the lamb and saves room for dessert, I just hope she doesn’t lose taste for a fine cheese.

       Dream Come True is about what I would have done otherwise, to save the love of my life I lost twice in similar circumstances, once in the fourties and again in the seventies. Maybe a sheer coincidence, but of course our like souls transcend all, ‘meant to be’ type of recursive love story. She she she It’s like the next miracle on 34^th street inasmuch as it is a little bit for everybody, some intrigue, some thrills, no blood but plenty of nudity; no penetration. Not even implied. We don’t want them getting ideas of their own.

       Blundering partners, fumbling idiots, full of respect and motivation and nothing else. Motivated by each others sexual morality.

       A new day, with each open eye. Unoriginal sin, pious bias, I believe in conspiracy, I am interested in principle, Scarecrow Copcar, Treat me like a symptom, Down to Earth, up for that. Anachronistic radio, apocalyptic clock. Landmarks.

Mynot

       I have been awake since before the sunrise and the water from the tap that I drink from my plastic coke bottle tastes like grape skins. The conspiracy of reason becomes apparent like the tingle of coarse salt against my lower gum line. There is certainly too much snow here for the likes of me and our purposes.

       Intimidation will bless you with destiny and doom in this world, with pain anguish and discomfort. I take my stand sitting down from where they get hardly arise from out of me. I know my story better than anyone, I could tell you with my eyes closed.

       I know what time it is but still am not sure if it is day or night.

       There are people on board who speak to each other without moving their muths. I do not think that they know that I know, they might not even though its happening, out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head. It is their voice I know it is, but their mouths are not open and their lips are not moving. And they speak of the most mundane matters, like where we’re going and what the time is, I think its like a self check game. I have no compromise on this trip personally, but everyone here is welcoming and leisurely as usual, from the passengers to the attendants so its alright.

       We’re taking a twenty minute break in the magic city for refueling and loading, I’ll probably step outside for five minutes or so. Why not? We shall certainly see.

Atheism’s Funny

         

It smells like French fries at S1. Dr. Dobson is a flight attendant this time. Nobody knows what to think of me as I appreciate the sunrise. I’ve been there, before approximately the same time last year.

       I can’t tell if this is the radio version thats of diffused polarity or natural distortion of the airplane. The nostalgia of safety, clarity is the drug and it is short lived. I still have the camouflage lighter I bought in Kenmore for $2.79.

      

“Y’know, in some cultures you don’t think until you mind.”

      

Please take a moment to familiarize yourself with the surroundings and do not be concerned with that which you do not understand. Secure your own mask. Safe and in a coma.

       How can I miss someone I’ve never met? I don’t want to share her sorrows but it’s hard to argue with regrets.

      

just goes to show, his bitter and urban servant serves him both.

The Stanhope

         

The place was fully furnished only as she was apart of everything.

          I find myself thinking all the time of someone else. I slit the window and took the bottom bunk, the dark one, designated the upper for work and design.

          It was as if I had been here my whole life. I began pulling stone figures from a set of drawers and finding places for each upon the set and above the door. She pointed and said “does this sound good?” and yet I heard nothing but the screams of pigs and rice being slaughtered.

          She was outside maintaining the grounds, hacking down invasive plants and watering edible herbs. The chaos wore by her matched the houndstooth in our eyes, I had planned on living by myself until she suggested moving in and making it more comfortable. It proved a venture deserving endless analysis and research.

          Someone moreover has cast a spell on me, I feel it in hindrance and repetition. Long hallways lined with long hallways lined with long hallways. I made a circuit of the store looking for electronics and noticed a section that was blocked to the public.

          A steady breeze passed between the panes of bulletproof glass, sawdust and snowflakes clogged an inflamed artery in red.

          Two men moved in as we, did leave as we were settling. The place that dreams are made of also happens to be where are greatest fears, are nightmares, our produced and manufactured. She was late as usual so I ordered without her, it was packed so I didn’t even get a drink. What I thought she would like had feta instead of ricotta.

          I was provoked to leave, out the door and up the street, and found myself carrying a doggybag, which I had lit up and left on his porch.

          I had taken 205 but someone was already there, and I realized I was supposed to be up in 304.

VACCUUM SPECIES

          I’ve met you before, you are the true believer. We know it doesn’t matter because its just a matter of time. We are waiting through hell and high heaven, even though we are doomed to walk at every expense. Someone is always watching, at any given time, taken for granted at this point on earth. The legend is key, the symbolism, the one and only zero repeated to infinity.

       You have your hands in something dirty and that only makes it cleaner. Freedom tastes better when you’ve had something to lose or to keep, you made that choice from the very beginning without regret, second thought or question, those beings obviously different.

       Magic means sharing everything, gray clouds and beards, old world disease and words, money and filth. I am angry that they’ve never thought of it before. It makes so much sense just waiting to be fulfilled, escaping extremity to the eye of the beholder. Pain is a warning, it hurts when its wrong, when the light touches the smoke and bursts into flame, when the air gets to it when it has nowhere to go and nothing better to do. We’ve forgotten what the summit looked like, how many were there and what they accomplished. Yet becoming president still isn’t what it was eighty-seven years ago.

RED BEEVER, MEET EATOR

         

Last night was my first day at the new job and I tell you there’s some real lookers there. I had my briefcase with me the whole time because I didn’t know where I could put it down but it was probably the plexiglass that kept me off the fireman pole. We had watched Sabrina and their office building had an elevator but it wasn’t much different.

        The night before the band had all the gear set up on stage but I couldn’t find my bass so they played through the first song without me, I think they were probably mad at me and had hidden it for some reason. One of the patronsfinally mentioned that it was in the bathroom so I went and found it, lying horizontally on the counter all the way to the back, and I think it was actually my first electric bass, the ESP 5-string that I had given to Ryan years ago. I don’t remember actually playing any songs that night; I was distracted by the toilet, the one and only toilet, that was oriented directly in front of the restroom entrance, without a stall, and the room itself did not have a door. I thought that was very strange so I guess I must’ve woken up right then.

        My throat has been sore and crooked for the past twenty four hours or so, I guess I’m still getting over cancer and subliminal messages, I guess its ironic that I must inflict inflection of affected infection. My crazy family is here, my stupid one is there, they know not what they do because they may have thumbs and pants but they don’t wear glasses.

Victims of Generalization: Exploits of a dark matter technician, Part TwO

Ruining it for the Rest of Us

I tend to push myself much too hard in ways that I don’t have to. We are certainly in this together, this phase, this period and existence. This is the blue age, borne of ghosts and the yellow sun. The powers that be don’t know the discontent, how could they and how could they be?

        I will get my point across at all expense and little cost. A sacrifice situation where we can have it all but not all at once and in this moment. The truth is made of fiction, it lies in vegetative fruition. Here we are with sharp pain and flavour, brilliant light and excruciating headspace. The armature is lost to the text, the harm is justified as a test.

       

The other half of acceptance is letting go, a double negative without a name. The certainty of unlawful terror is upon us all as we push on without recourse of patterned circumstance. Sometimes it went without saying, the care we were granted and subjected to, seemingly with little question or regard. The smallest voice is lost in the dark, shrinking like the paranoid flame.

       

Exactly how great can this world really be? Who decides? Is it just a matter of time before we reach our place to shine? I don’t believe in my own solitude as my words constitute the finest line between past and future, a rocky one with countless tribulations. Each story still in its pages outlines certain diction and then tension, every fleeting persistence is a mutual love of desperate coherence, for it is still only true if one feels it as they hear it and then compute enough to describe thus as such that they may say they are more than merely alive, that we may be convinced.

In the outdoors

       

You know the content quality based on the captions, their opinions, if it’s live or if they’re trying to win you over, if the company cares or the caption writer, if they’re a man, woman, or machine. Victims are everywhere but at least they’re getting Paid. Who knew when we were younger that we’re actually half of an awesomer animal? I believe in conspiracy which is increasingly harder to admit but it’s really the only way to protect an investment, a good idea. It’s really happening more often than not if it’s happening at all. Where are we on the ecliptic right now? Are there witches living in your neighborhoods or only their safeguards, because you’re a moneymaker, because you have family? Are you angry and you don’t know why? There are powers in play that we still don’t realize, because if anything not just as above so below. 2 is just as much as we can handle in that regard, in the context of 2.

        And who knew that originality and cliche really just come down to whether this is happening, happened, or will happen, what are the chances? A gambler only has to win once and infinitely more losses because who is to say?

        Nothing is what it was anymore and forever so cherish it while you’re old and dying in the limelight by yourself, we’ll all get our chance to prove our point and time only tells our failings. Nothing matters and it is nobody’s, we intrinsically understand beauty because it plays upon an undiscovered part, works in mysterious ways, and its all been said before but this time it’s for you so you know its more important because they won’t and will not be the same, they don’t spin gold like they used to.

Sexy Time Chauffeur

        Public education is a [valuable waste] because everyone wants to be a genius but nobody is. They should have to go through it because we went through with it and so on.

          Everything I took for granted is still with me, subtlely. We have met in the middle as usual, as often as I have called.

          Subtle inflection, I have no basis to understanding. I do not want to be retaught, but if I must I am expected of any regard. I am not yet ready to feed my enemy’s children, for we too have been made to suffer by the invisible promise that we will and do and must go on, the song inevitable, the desire compromised.

          I had forgotten how a universe works, at the exact cost of why. I too believe in conspiracy, that I am left to die alone in the best way possible, and that means never again. Where is your hurry? At home where you left it of course, it was too nice this morning to deal with such a contraption.

          We are relatable because we want to be. If you were a spider I would be a spider and we would fuck the little bugs because that’s what they’re known for. Their inescapable two-dimensional spiral. The contrast is even harder to avoid. They never seen this coming, the once in a lifetime exposure that comes with a morning of regret. You try too hard. Take your shoes off and have a beer. The molecules are less metallic than those from the tap though they are less clear and therefore more untrustworthy.

          I believe in silence as a way to say something just and without meaning. STOP FREAKING OUT you have a lot of good ideas that aren’t going nowhere, you’re putting yourself through too much pain for the sake of a double negative. Only weeds grow here so we import goods on trucks and ships that are refridgerated and not very fast. It’s only a joke if you get it, then it’s a story that’s better taken sitting down with low overhead light and a place to bounce ideas off or at least record them for future generations. I am left handed and I am writing with my left hand with red ink at 6 in the morning on kitchen paper and ROYALS and BLURRED LINES are not by Katy Perry.

       

The Transient Solicitor from Guatemala at 12:30 am

       

Do you even know why you came here tonite? This perception of yours where respect and consideration fail to meet, well I will not let you get away with it. I don’t care much of your insight and disposition yore wasting my time. Sure you can come in out of the cold, take your shoes off and you will not get them back.

       Do you want a drink? Hot or cold? I will make a compromise as I go, incorporate the excrement to the Sacred Place. I found it a nuisance before the necessity and obligation but now I see you’ve got nowhere to go and this is what my handwriting really looks like.

       You should not care to make those sorts of generalizations. You will not let me leave because you don’t understand me and what I’m doing here. This is your house and I want it.

      

      

      

I’m not sure if the first solicitor is meant to be there as a part of regress, or a simple interrupt.

          Distractions around every corner. I don’t like this one. They have an air about them that is so. . . violent. We will not get along.

          This Job is your job, this Job is my job, from pickin garbage, to pickin options, from all the small ones, to all the pawn shops, this job was made for you and me.

objective of the DMT

       The darkness of silence, I have taken the liberty of knowing how it will end. I see a little bit of it within each and everything that surrounds me. This is right. This is how it was supposed to be and could not be any other way. My inflection may only be met by my intention.

       You didn’t have to tell me about wasting time. I was thinking about going on a diet. The kind that fixes the spirit, the soul. It’s nothing to be afraid of but must be nourished because there are a lot of small people in this world who are a lot of talk and they must be fed if we expect them to keep quiet.

       So give them something good to watch, over and over, so they may understand and it doesn’t have to be loud or distracting or bright or intelligent. It needs a place, a time and place, a person and a time and place with something to do, somewhere to go and something to see. They do not yet realize that with every ladder climbed one must come back down and it takes more than nothing to do so. Somewhere between something and nothing, which could be approximately one or zero, or two. But definitely at least one.

       It has to happen 99 times for the sake of understanding. We know the difference between one and zero, but what they have in common might be nine, and then somehow eleven makes sense, ten times. But only as nine. Nine times. In the ones place. And the zero.

Anything Helps: Exploits of a dark matter technician, Part ONe

The Book was Better

            My father was not a storyteller, feelings have no form, words are not action and I was barely born. My perception has always built up, always stayed the same. Every breakthrough is hardly a change. The odds of elegance is the grace of eloquence. The cost of consequence simplifies the remainder. Ambiguous discrepancy management eliminated technology, the deficiency of human error. Discipline is ignorant of flavour.

          My brother is very much my father’s son and my sister my mother’s daughter, and yet I am my own, at sheer odds of my own world. I know my own birth as well as my own death, under assumption of its existence.

          I know what books are, they are either what movies were or what they will be. We are grandfathered into this system and like to forget who started it. We are only twice removed but sometimes it seems so difficult just to pick up the phone, just to say hello. It is expensive, the expense to toil over just so we may have the option of perspective, the opportunity of perception.

          I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to let it stand. I’m following your rules so they may forget, so I may remember; I am my own, you have seen to that.

          His hair turned red as soon as I knew he was becoming angry with me. It was obvious that he was shaking because I was. Maybe I should declare my candidacy as a free man. Maybe I’m afraid for no good reason. Maybe I’ve been lying for all the wrong ones.

          An impossible situation, we don’t understand how this can be, me as you and you as me. We confused her with our misleading argument, two trucks fully fueled.

          Does our house like you better than me, can it tell the difference? Do the neighbors understand what they see? Has this really all been happening to me?

          Let’s celebrate our repetition and dance to demonstrate admission, regrets are far and few between, so listen good to see what I mean. It doesn’t matter what people say, we’ll get around fine anyway. I’ve been stoned so long that now, it doesn’t matter anyhow. Retrace the steps so long as they count, no matter how deep the quicksand is we loose the noose and jimmy the lock so we may in time get out.

           

Blink Ink

      

“Angels no longer have wings when they realize there’s nowhere left worth flying to.”

       Upon waking you have been given an ice cream cone. You have never seen one before but you know exactly what it is, and upon this realisation its continual 2-dimensional frame becomes seemingly fake, you forgetting the simple names you thought you knew. Alternating darkness shrouds both the ice cream and its frame, and you have no ideal urge to reach out and grab it. You’re already holding it. The dessert is pink, perfectly formed and unmalting. It doesn’t even seem cold. The medical office where you are inclined doesn’t even seem occupied, and you know it’s late, it’s probably dark outside but the room doesn’t have windows. You take a bite and plummet back into unconsciousness, but it’s okay, you still have a sense of flavour and an overwhelming trust in your rigor mortis like grip, assuring you from dropping it. The substance moves in your mouth, over and around your tongue, and the flute gets louder and louder from over the mountain. Your entire plane of perception goes pink from behind closed lids as the sun slowly rises over the mountain. Birds chime in with morning song, as well as a clarinet and lightly rolling timpany. When you now open your eyes, ice cream doesn’t exist yet.

      

I knew I had lived a lifetime with her, retracing my steps and I don’t want to lose it. She had put the cat in the bag. She developed a crutch and was slowly changing.

the elevator was broken.

I was in socks

I had a drug problem

I knew by her acne that she was younger than me, Asian grace Kelly. She touched me and I touched back, under the dark sun. My friends would disapprove, we were too similar to everything we once cherished and now remember. Her family liked me because I was so out of place, I didn’t make sense and they wanted to understand. But as we left the restaurant I placed their god on the trashcan; I had no other choice, I was in a big hurry. The only other white people were two female sushi chefs who bowed as we left.

Yes They Could

          Cursive is a dying art; I swear the next generation will have no idea what I’m talking about. We don’t need it, not in the age of passwords, those essentially personal beings. It’s not our name, number or combination but a reciprocal, something required to prove it’s us. Otherwise it could be anyone, just as long as they’re here and now.

It doesn’t make sense to argue anymore, to inflict bloodshed or to expect death. The only difference makes all the difference, between you and me, man and woman, immortality and eternal life. The only way to press on is to push the envelope, when we only get tired of keeping it to ourselves.

I am a genius, an expert, a professional. I don’t care what others say or do because they don’t exist, not like we do, nowhere near as well. Very possibly they will have their time or have had it, just as well, in the blink of a weeping eye it’s gone, blurred from memory, never to return. All that remains is the fundamental truth that we’re all in this together, regardless of gender and sex.

We will not, may not move forward unless and until we agree. It is our job to convince each other, to ring a bell and call it a key, to break the bread we were told to so long ago and far from here.

A ticking alarm clock fades in and explodes. . .

          They call them duezies here because if you’re wielding one it’s practically impossible not to end up in a duel, and someone thought they should have a cute nickname. Harvey shot me twice in the gut and I lay there feeling myself bleed out as I thought about him running down the corridor, up the stairs, then confidently striding across the lobby and back to where he was sitting, picking up his newspaper where he left off and lighting another cigarette. Or maybe Truman had been following him. Maybe he had to casually walk out that door, hail a cab and lose him in afternoon traffic. Or maybe my hunch was right all this time, maybe it’s all in my mind and I just shot myself twice in the gut. Anyway, it’s not going to bring April back, I know that much.

          Now that I think about it, I haven’t been shot. I’m lying down because I was tired, I’m not bleeding out. My eyes aren’t even open. I’m sleeping in the hotel basement because I’m hiding, hiding from someone who does not exist. Jesus Christ, how was I supposed to know I’m just a character in a story, one I came up with and wrote down? It only keeps happening over and over because I keep reading it, a little different every time because of where I am and how I feel. I only really didn’t care about her when she told me she didn’t care about me anymore, as if she ever did, but that’s still not gonna bring her back.

          Now where was I? Where have I been? Oh yeah, a ticking alarm clock explodes, an insignificant action. This world was invented when the slave decided to be its own master and not the other way around.

          I don’t know what her question means to me anymore, I don’t even remember how she put it, what she looks like. Who is April May? She could be anybody, any slight subtlety that possesses me to a second glance. Because it only has to happen twice.

          The average lifespan of a human is nine months, which is completely relative, the formative consumption is due to the light that hits it. We’re all in this together, this Hell, with airtight talents and a proclivity to jealousy, for power, for the other half, for vice. Take care of yourself, she said, but not because she wants to see me again. No, just the opposite. She doesn’t want to care anymore, not for me. I told her not to worry, that means it’s over for us. A lot of good we’ve done each other; I’m broke and she’s poor. It doesn’t matter. In a world of hurt it doesn’t matter.

          The low hum caught my attention and then I noticed the shadows moving, no longer standing still, a creature of wrath, a choking sentinel for enduring residue. My friend, I know who I am and what I have become, the terror of my own heart, my father, the true calling of justice.

         

King Richard of Potatoe

          I am a dark matter technician amid harbingers of desultory circumlocution, I used to think we were the same until I realize our clashing epistemologies, our antagony, that we don’t really get along. What we have is not love, not for each other, and we are too far from each other learning to get it right.

       I’m the guy that cares for everything you take for granted, you don’t need examples because that’s my job and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the same thing over and over. It’s time for a change.

       As long as I write I only become more right, only become more of a writer. I forget how easy it is to fix things because everywhere I look is a solution that I don’t really want. They are only there to fix the mistakes of others.

       I’ve been getting nausea quite frequently too, a very physical reminder that I can’t do this forever even if I wanted to. I’m not living here like I have to even though I do. To make a choice is to choose and it doesn’t really matter anyway.

       It will get colder soon only after it remains warm, the moment of forever is closing in you’re doing a good job keeping up.

Toxic Markers

         

I found myself in her room again, a master of self control. My underwear were crumpled on the floor in the daylight and I was going through her jeans looking for ones that might fit. She was in the other closet watching a small television inside hanging clothes. “You gotta see this one,” she said.

        I had just been all the way downstairs, at church, where I had been midwriting my band’s name on an elaborately geometrical glow in the dark surface when an uncontrollable filth obviously took over and I had to get out of there. It was dark but I found the switch for the overhead fluorescence. My mind was racing as I thought where I could go to get cleaned up, but I was only still drawn to the room.

        Perpetual daylight, they’ve thought of everything. Why have I been living in a cave when it’s been so gorgeous lately? Have I done something wrong? Of course, if I can’t remember, I must’ve lost my place whilst dramatically avoiding cliche. It naturally hurts to be wanted only when you know they hate you back, that it will be over soon and it won’t make a fucking lick of sense. I’m indifferent to her charm, her sensible ways, because well, I don’t want to hurt her feelings but I just don’t find her attractive. She’s got a winning smile that I don’t believe, that I find misleading and it’s only a matter of time before she hates me back. That’s why she won’t help me. She’s sick of the sight of me. Can’t stand to be around.

Rules

1. If it doesn't have a name, I'm not playing.
   
     1a. If it doesn't have a title, it's for me.

2. There are no secrets.

3. To win is to get your point across; the object is a trophy.

4. The one with the closest upcoming birthday goes first.

5. Wins are directly proportional to losses.

6. The only difference is a matter of time.

7. The goal is to score a task

     7b. The task is to score a goal.

     7a. The score sets the field.

8. Ambiguous discrepancy management must save the world so that externalised intrinsic motivation may save the world.

9. Don't sleep at the office.

     9a. Make all calls during the day (10 a.m. -10 p.m.)

10. A single rule is meant to be broken.