Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Delipped. Defunct. Deralked. Slime

So let's learn to play some strings. On these rings we have two segments: white and dilapidated. In the different side of things there really is no excuse why this tree is still a sapling. Weak, brittle yet vibrant. So vivid that it becomes animate.
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Later it was discovered he hung himself over the old farm bridge. No one understood how the damn bridge could sustain his weight. It outnumbered those within the bar stools, lurking, stalking the women ordering spinal fluid as if it were on tap that night. She handed the bartender a ten dollar bill and told him to keep the rest, and winked. In her soft hand she carried a fetus, nagging her asking to be put down. She acted as if nothing happened and continued to walk towards a lone wolf table. Every inch of the table was covered in vulgar writing. Mucus and semen drenched the table and continually moved like an amoeba trying to swallow the table.

She sat. Her face was clear, but only to a certain extent. She was covered in scars. Memories of her past never being able to leave her, going where ever she may go, only to mutilate the eyes of those she becomes acquainted with.




I end here. Aristotle has much to teach about life.

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