January 23

Fly On Your Shoulder Or Larmey’s Chore

Larmey Oats walked into the hardware store. He looked around the aisles but there were already too many people in the world. So he went directly up to the main counter where he waited what seemed like two an half seconds.

‘Hello. My name is Philip. How can I help you sir?’ the man behind the counter asked.

‘Yes. May I please have a bag of Mellick3’s Moisture Control Potting Soil, please.’ said Larmey in a very direct manner.

‘Certainly.’ Philip said in a very pleasant way and continued in an even more pleasant manner. ‘Let me get that for you.’ He picked up the phone and made an announcement. ‘Ray, call the front desk please. Ray, call the front desk.’

As expected Ray called the front desk and the phone rang. Philip picked up the phone and explained to Ray what Larmey wanted. Then Mr. Kush walked by…

‘Everything ok here?’ he asked in a nonchalant manner.

‘Yes sir everything’s fine.’ Philip said and Mr. Kush walked elsewhere into the store. Just then Ray came walking up from the back of the store. He stopped just behind Larmey and removed a sack from a display and with a smile, turned around and placed it on the counter.

‘There you go sir…’ Philip exclaimed somewhat triumphantly ‘…will there be anything else?’ he asked.

‘No.’ Larmey said unemotionally

‘Well then Tina can ring you up.’ with that Philip walked away and didn’t look back. Larmey paid for his potting soil and within twenty minutes he was home, out of the car, in the front door and walking through the house. He walked to the bedroom and set the bag of potting soil on the bed.

He went to the closet and removed a plain white pillow case from the shelf and slid it over the unopened bag of potting soil. He tucked in the access cloth and placed the bag at the head of the bed on the right side. Then he left the room heading for the kitchen to get some lunch.

January 23

A Story To Peruse…

A STORY TO PERUSE WHEN YOUR COFFEE HAS GOTTEN COLD

The captain of the ship was dying. He was dying a slow slow death. But he sat in his captain’s chair drinking a chocolate milkshake and watching a Scooby Doo marathon. The captain’s name was J. Reginald Adams IV, and he had wavy hair. His father, his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father all had had wavy hair too but had not been captains of ships. They really had been nobodies. But this didn’t bother J. Reginald Adams IV. He was still proud of his heritage and lifted his chocolate milkshake to toast the lineage.

Just then Scooby said, ‘Wime wared!’ Then Velma responded, laughing, ‘Oh, c’mon, Scooby, there’s nothing to be afraid of. See? This old house may look haunted but—’ Velma, looking to her left, commenced to screaming, and Scooby jumped in a gravity-defying manner into her arms, his entire body quivering in fright. J. Reginald Adams IV set down his milkshake—now half-finished—and watched the scene with deep interest, forgetting all about the thoughts he had been having of his family line and of the fact that he was dying a slow slow death.

*

‘Good morning, children, my name is Carolyn Battersbasementonian-arbragio. In case you’re wondering, boys and girls, I don’t have leprosy as Mr. Schmidt says I do, and my irises work just fine thank you. So you can all go back home today and tell your mommies and daddies and doggies and kitties and whoever elsies that your new substitute teacher is perfectly healthy and does not have any known diseases, okay?’

The children all nod in unison, but remain quiet, staring up at Carolyn Battersbasementonianarbragio. Their class begins, and for the rest of the day they learn very many interesting and wonderful things.

When she returns home, she gets a phone call. It is J. Reginald Adams IV, calling to tell her that he’s dying his beautiful little slow slow death but that if she’s available this evening when his ship comes in to port, he will come by and pick her up and take her to a pleasant restaurant and maybe someday they could marry and have kids and hopefully have enough time to enjoy them before his slow slow death catches up with him and does him in completely.

Carolyn Battersbasementonianarbragio moves her pursed red lips closer to the receiver and says, ‘Why, honestly, you know I’d just love that!’

So his ship comes and they go out. They have a great time. They get married, have kids, he enjoys them for a while, then dies his slow slow death.

By the way, she kept her maiden name, for professional reasons. And just before he died he got thrown in jail for stealing a Scooby Doo cartoon videotape. Oh, and his ship never sailed again. She was afraid of the ocean.

Okay, so that’s the end.

January 21

I’m Not Afraid of Psychos

When the hitchhiker got in the car, he pulled out a knife and said, ‘Get this piece of shit moving.’

‘Let me guess,’ I said and hit the gas. ‘You’re a psycho.’

‘Damn straight.’

I flipped on the radio, dialing through the static. The Mohave desert flew by. I turned the radio off. ‘I’m not afraid of psychos,’ I said.

‘Shut up and drive.’ He held the blade under my nose.

I was on my way to Las Vegas.

‘Why don’t you put that thing away,’ I said after a bit. ‘You got me now, right? What am I gonna do?’

He snorted phlegm into his throat. ‘All right, but don’t fuck up.’

‘Deal,’ I said.

He put the knife away.

Up ahead a dead animal was squashed on the other side of the road. I swerved to get a piece of it.

‘What’d you do that for?’ the hitcher said.

‘Why not?’

He was just a kid, maybe half my age, with long greasy blond hair and some peach fuzz over his lip. His sweat smelled like onions. Between his feet was an army surplus backpack. His jeans had holes in the knees. He fished a box of Lucky Strikes and a Zippo from the backpack and lit a smoke.

‘No smoking in this car,’ I said, looking out at the desert.

‘Tough shit.’ He dragged on the cigarette.

I whipped the car to the side of the road, dust puffing up around the windows. A tractor trailer roared past. I took off my sunglasses. ‘I said no smoking in this car.’

‘What’s your problem?’

‘Get rid of that cigarette or I’ll put it out on your tonsils,’ I screamed.

He tossed the butt out into the sand.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Shit, whatever,’ he said.

‘Are we ready to roll now?’

Back on the highway we passed a sign that said Las Vegas 92. I’d never been there before.

‘So what’s the plan?’ I asked.

‘We’re paying somebody a little visit.’ He pulled a bottle of water from his pack and took a slug.

‘Who?’

‘You don’t need to know who,’ he said.

I laughed. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it.’

He brought the knife out. ‘Remember who’s in control here.’

‘Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot. Sorry. You’re in control. Aye aye, captain!’

He touched the tip of the blade to my cheek bone. ‘Don’t fuck with me.’

I leaned against the sharp point, pricking my skin. There was another dead animal coming up in the road–a rabbit–which I got with the right tires. I could feel blood dribbling down my face.

‘Man, you’re out there,’ the kid said.

We didn’t talk for a little while after that. The sun was getting lower, making the desert glow like hot coals.

Finally I said, ‘You remember that saying from school, ‘It takes one to know one’? It’s pretty much true, isn’t it?’

He just cleared his throat and snorted.

‘A lot of those sayings are right on the money,’ I went on. ‘Kids are like little philosophers. Little bundles of wisdom. How about this one: ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.’ I mean, who can argue with that?’

‘What are you talking about, man? Why don’t you just shut up? God,’ he said. ‘I’m riding with a nutcase.’

‘’Sticks and stones’,’ I said. ‘But that one isn’t so effective,I think. That one never worked for me. It just made me see red. Names will never hurt me and all that horseshit–it just made me pound the guy, beat him fucking senseless.’

He glugged some water and put the bottle back in his bag. A cop cruiser raced by in the other direction. In the distance some low hills stood against the orange sky. Beyond the hills somewhere was Vegas. I’d heard it jumped out at you suddenly.

I tried the radio again. Nothing but static and a man shoutinga bout the flames of hell, the glories of heaven. ‘Believe what I say!’ he said. ‘Believe what I say!’

Shifting my ass in the bucket seat, I looked at the gold B hanging from the ignition key. Barbara, I thought. Barry. Bruce. Betty. Bill. I didn’t even know what kind of car it was.

‘I need to piss,’ the kid said.

I touched the cut on my cheek where the blade had stuck me.

‘Hey, man, pull over so I can take a leak.’

‘Piss your pants,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Piss your pants.’

Pushing the knife into my gut, he said, ‘Stop the fucking car.’

With a sigh I drifted the car over into the dust. ‘This macho man act is really starting to bore me,’ I said.

He told me to get out and I did. The ground sizzled under my boots. I looked out across the desert stubble while the kid peed. Some white flowers bloomed in the emptiness. A red convertible sped by, the horn honking as the girls screamed out at us, their long hair whipping like banners. As I watched them disappear down the road, I tried to think back to the last time I’d been with a girl–a real girl, one that didn’t require payment. Then the kid said, ‘Let’s move,’ and we got in the car and continued on.

Another sign came up: Las Vegas 78. There was still nothing around. No stores, no lights, no houses.

‘We’re gonna be making a turn up here pretty soon,’ the kid said.

‘Up where?’

‘Just keep going.’

He pulled his oily hair into a ponytail and tied it with a rubber band. There was a long scar from his forehead to his temple. I asked him how he got it. He said he ran through a plate glass window.

‘Make a right up here,’ he said.

I wheeled the car onto a dirt road that curved through the scrub. In a little while the road dropped down through a sort of canyon and then we were in a small development–shacks and trailers scattered in the sand. There weren’t any people, like a virus had swept them away. We passed the dried carcass of a dead dog and a row of ten or fifteen mailboxes leaning way over in the weeds, reminding me of dominoes falling.

‘When was the last time you played dominoes?’

‘This place is freaky,’ the kid said.

‘Does anybody ever play dominoes the way they’re meant to be played? I mean, it’s a numbers game, right? That’s what the little dots are for. But all I ever see people do is set them up and watch them fall. All that trouble for nothing. I remember when some guys made an entire American flag out of dominoes, red,white and blue–took up a whole gymnasium–and then they knocked it down. It was finished in seconds.’

The car bounced over the pitted road.

‘It’s this one up here,’ the kid said.

‘So are you gonna tell me who we’re visiting?’

‘Dude owes me money.’

‘How much?’

‘Enough to make me hitch a ride through the desert. Stop here.’

I stopped the car in front of a white snail-back trailer on cinderblocks. We got out and went up to the door, which had a padlock on it. I noticed the next trailer over had a lock on it,also.

‘Goddamn bastard split,’ the kid said and kicked the door.

‘If I had somebody’s money I probably wouldn’t stick around here either.’

He picked up a rock and began smashing it against the lock.

‘Hey, hey, that won’t do any good,’ I said and went over and got the crowbar from the trunk of the car. ‘This here’s your skeleton key,’ I said and worked the flat-end of the bar under the metal plate nailed to the door and pried the lock off with a few jerks. We went into the trailer.

The place was baking-hot and reeked of piss. Newspapers and old clothes were strewn about. A shriveled plant sat on the windowsill

The kid started searching around frantically. He dug in the pockets of a pair of filthy pants. He ripped a drawer out and smashed it on the floor. He tore the stained covers off the bed and flipped the mattress against the wall.

I was still holding the crowbar. I thought a few solid shots onthe head would do the trick. But I just stood there watching him.

Finally he sat and buried his face in his hands. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘You actually expected this guy to be here with your money?’

‘How much you have on you?’ he said, getting up.

‘Why?’

Through the dusty window the sun could be seen plunging behind the hills. The heat of the trailer made my eyes throb.

‘I think you better hand over your wallet right now,’ he said, and out came the knife. ‘And your car keys.’

I looked at him for a long moment. Then I started laughing. I laughed harder than I’d ever laughed in my whole life. It was a wild, emptying feeling that made my head spin. I had to sit down.

‘Are you, like, out of your mind?’ he said.

‘You want my money and my car. And it’s not even my car. I don’t know whose it is.’

‘You jacked that thing?’ He shook his head. ‘Man, it just gets better and better.’

‘Come here.’ I threw the crowbar down on the floor.

He inched toward me, holding the knife low. I grabbed his wrist with one hand and the blade with the other, clenching it as tight as I could, until the sweat ran into my eyes and my face shook and my breath came out in little grunts. The kid let go of the handle, looking like he’d just had a nightmare.

‘You are one screwed up mother,’ he said.

‘Damn straight,’ I said.

I pocketed the knife and tied an old rag around my hand. ‘So, are we pals now?’

By the time we were back out on the highway it was almost dark. The kid went to light a cigarette and then thought better of it. We said nothing to each other, as if some silent agreement had been reached. He eased his seat back and closed his eyes.

There were cars in front of us and behind, moving up to pass, racing by in the opposite direction–everyone in a rush to put the desert behind them, like skipping over the boring parts of a book. I was in no hurry.

The kid was sleeping now, air hissing out his nose. I found a few more stations on the radio, and I knew that it wouldn’t belong before the lights of Las Vegas came jumping up out of the night.

Category: Cornfed Bill | 1 Comment
January 21

Oswald’s Cry

‘Again!’ she demanded.

So once more Alvin struck her with the sack full of wheat.

Outside, the procession continued, the mourners bemoaning the lack of fish in the village.

Oswald, who was born with gills, watched from his perch on the windowsill. Behind him, Mama kneaded the bread and wished she’d never met Oswald’s father.

‘Again!” she demanded.

So again, Alvin swung the sack of wheat.

Oswald looked up from the procession and began to weep. He could see Papa across the alley, ‘paying the rent’ to haggard old Mrs. Wentworth.

A cry went out over the rooftops.

Oswald began to bleed from the gills.

The mourners watched with anticipation.

Mama saw the blood and threw Oswald from the window into the canal below.

There he splashed.

Mrs. Wentworth smiled.

The mourners produced fishing rods.

Alvin looked helplessly over the wrinkled shoulders of his landlady as his son was fished from the water, gutted, and eaten raw.

Now, for true, the rent was paid

Category: Marcus Oswald | 1 Comment
January 21

STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS IN EVOLUTION

When he was two and a half years old, Derry Fenster, a child who had suffered colic and various other childhood eating and digestive problems, consumed a triple ‘A’ battery. This occurred without his parents knowledge and remained unknown to them even when they changed his diaper, for instead of passing the item, as would be the normal course of things, Derry fully digested the battery. The copper and alkalis were absorbed by Derry’s digestive system and broken down until the only waste material that remained was slightly acidic water, which he passed without complaint.

After consuming the battery, Derry, who was a sickly child and the cause of much concern on the part of his parents, experienced an upswing in his general health. The result of this upswing was that the normally cranky and difficult child became easygoing and downright sweet in his behaviour. His parents assumed that his poor demeanour was the result of an allergy, and further assumed that his improved temperament was due to his outgrowing this allergy.

Their assumption was not far from the truth. For Derry did suffer from a number of environmental allergies. He was allergic to fresh air, fruit, milk, and unfloridated water.

As time passed, still unbeknownst to his parents, Derry continued eating batteries and various other seemingly toxic items. With each toxic item consumed, Derry’s health flourished. Soon his diet expanded to include nail polish remover, paint thinner, and handfuls of chemical fertiliser from a bag stored in the garage.

When he was taken to the doctor for check-ups, the Paediatrician complimented Mrs. Fenster on changing Derry’s diet. He noted that the boy had gained weight and was much more co-operative than in previous visits.

Mrs. Fenster accepted the compliments, but inwardly felt uneasy about the whole thing. After all, Derry’s diet hadn’t changed and the boy was actually eating less than before. Mrs. Fenster chalked her sons sudden upswing to natural growth hormones and thanked God that he didn’t misbehave anymore.

Derry’s secret diet remained unnoticed until the fifth grade when his art teacher spotted him drinking a can of paint thinner and rushed him to the hospital. There, little Derry explained his dietary habits to the amazed doctor.

His parents were duly informed.

What followed was a series of tests administered by the emergency room doctor, who later presented his findings to the Nobel committee. He would have been awarded a Nobel prize for his discovery has it not come to light that he was a well-know drag queen in his time away from the hospital. This intolerance for alternative lifestyles led to someone else receiving the coveted award that year.

Derry, however, became a sensation. Known as the ‘Amazing Derry’ in the press, it was widely reported that he was able to consume the most toxic of substance without any ill effects.

What was not reported, but was noted in depth by the transvestite doctor, was that toxic substance had a startlingly positive effect on Derry’s constitution. Derry’s digestive system was built to absorb chemicals and metals that would kill any other living thing on the planet.

In the opinion of the disgraced, but no less brilliant doctor, Derry represented a new stage in human evolution. This was a notion that was roundly dismissed and suppressed by the unfortunate doctor’s colleagues.

Derry went on to make a fine living as an entertainer. His Las Vegas show opened on the eve of his thirteenth birthday. At a party held for him by the manager of the Casino which featured his amazing performaces, Derry was presented with a cheque representing his cut of the previous evenings box office take. It was in the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Derry’s father, who remained in the background, puffed on a large cigar as his son accepted the cheque.

Later in the evening, Derry ate the butt of that cigar as a snack.

During his tenure in Las Vegas, again unbeknownst to his parents, and indeed most people around him, Derry began chasing girls. More specifically showgirls. His sexual appetite, like any teenaged boy, was unparalleled. Because he was wealthy and famous, and fun to be around, Derry managed to bed a large number of women in his teenage years.

As time went on, public interest in Derry dwindled. By the time he was twenty, his Las Vegas show ran only twice a week. Though numbers were still relatively solid, Derry and his father, who was also his manager, decided to call it quits. There was talk of a TV movie, but it was decided that the image of someone eating batteries and drinking toxic waste did not translate to the screen.

Derry retired from show business shortly thereafter.

Around this time there were several paternity suits against Derry. All of the plaintiffs were former Las Vegas showgirls that claimed Derry had impregnated them during one tryst or another. Derry’s father managed to beat every suit in court. He had a knack for hiring smart lawyers.

Living on his own in New York city, Derry began frequenting the bars, clubs, and coffee houses of Greenwich Village. There he met a young folk singer who saw the young man as a ticket to fame. She wrote a song about Derry called “Freak of Science”. The gist of the song was that all of the environmental hazards created by science had also created Derry. The song was catchy and sung in such a way that the lyrics were difficult to understand. It was a massive hit – much to the girl’s chagrin.

When Derry was informed as to the subject of the song, which he thought was a simple love song, he became incensed. He went on the talk show circuit and denounced the folk singer for exploiting him. He went on to claim that his condition was a mutation, part of the grand plan of evolution. He was not a freak. he was perfectly natural.

His appearance on the talk shows renewed interest in Derry and his unique abilities. Not all of the interest was positive. Religious groups denounced Derry for advancing the theory of Evolution in an irresponsible way. An eminent Asian-Canadian scientist and broadcaster claimed that Derry was attempting to present the idea that environmental hazards were merely a part of nature. This, he claimed, was not the case, as any right-thinking person would tell you.

But as quickly as it rose, the renewed tide of interest in Derry ebbed. He published an autobiographical book entitled ‘I Am Not A Freak’. In it, Derry advanced the theory that environmental waste was as natural in the scheme of things as a beaver building a dam. He further claimed that his existence was Evolution’s way of coping with what was essentially a natural phenomenon. According to Derry, it was the human race’s responsibility to pollute the environment as much as possible in order to follow their ‘evolutionary destiny’. Though the book sold well, it was dismissed in intellectual circles.

His claims were put to the test many years later when three nuclear accidents swept the United States. The resulting chaos caused many more accidents, both nuclear and chemical, throughout the world. The devastation that resulted was worse than anything the world had ever seen.

Billions died.

However, in his New York apartment, Derry Fenster felt better than he had in his entire life. So did his fifteen offspring, who by then were scattered throughout the country. Seven boys. Eight girls.

Six years later, they were among the only people left on earth. Somehow, they all found each other. To them, pools of toxic waste were like mineral baths. Discarded car batteries were like rump roasts. They consumed battery acid by the gallon. To them, the wasted, infected, ruined Earth was like a Garden of Eden.

Much to their surprise, Derry’s ‘family’ discovered that there were others like them, mostly from small villages in the Amazon, others from as far as Siberia.

Soon, a community of these evolutionarily advanced individuals was formed. It was decided that Derry should be their leader.

And so it was until his death nine hundred years later.

January 19

A Little Boy and His Medicine

One day, a boy was given some medicine. He was coughing and the doctor found phlegm in his lungs. The boy took the medicine and screamed, “My mouth is on fire!”
Flames flew out and engulfed his mother. She burned into ashes but not without setting the house on fire. The fire department tried to put it out but it just spread down the street.
In the end, forty houses burned up and the families suffered wounds on ninety percent of their body.
The little boy was fine, though. His cough went away and he went back to school.

MEP

Category: MEP | 1 Comment
January 18

Please Pay The Busker

WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE sang out The busker in glee. The entertained clapped politely but few offered coins to the upturned cap. The busker picked up his cap and left. Once alone he counted the day’s takings. Two duckets were to be his for food and lodgings. NOT A LOT FOR A DAY’S WORK said a voice to his side who introduced himself as Dodsley. The busker readily agreed. Dodsley promised that he would see the busker’s hat overbrimming thereafter if he could interfere. The busker signed up immediately.

After the next day’s preformance had finished coins rained into the cap. Dodsley walked menancingly through the crowd brandishing a cattle prod. The busker picked up his heavy hat and made towards a cafe to count his takings. He bought a drink for one ducket and gave the waitress another for her trouble. He counted his money into neat piles onto the table. He counted forty duckets plus the two he had spent. Dodsley came into the cafe and without further ado scooped up the duckets and placed them into his overcoat pocket saying that he was owed two more. The busker remonstrated saying he was worse off than before.

DO YOU THINK THAT I SHOULD WORK THE CROWD FOR NOTHING? raged Dodsley

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January 17

A Confused Man Confessing To Empty Rooms

Why are people afraid of good god fearing America? I offer you this. Because it threatens them. The world is made up of animals who instinctively draw away from fire. I myself am one of them. I make excuses for myself but know I have none. I am a despicable type of person, loathsome and not to be respected or trusted. My entire makeup is of deception, I consider things only in what respect that they can gain me respect or intimidate. I am an entirely selfish person and make apologies for it whenever possible or whenever convenient to my agenda. I am a petty self obsessed meaningless person, the most idiotic of breeds to be sure. There’s nothing that I say that I haven’t heard before from another source and yet I don’t believe it so. As a matter of fact I am absolutely convinced that it is not so. The idea that my thoughts are not my own was brought to my attention by conspiracy theorists of the psychological bent, that all or at least most men are dishonest and seek purely selfish ends. I have defended myself. Accepting that I am selfish, on the grounds that selfish acts inevitably lead towards the betterment of the entire race inadvertently. Being from I suppose a liberal bent that all things inevitably lead towards the betterment of the whole no matter how insane or debased they may seem initially.

This was not enough to convince me. I didn’t believe it. I had heard many convincing arguments on my insanity, stupidity and selfishness from someone who seemed to me to be entirely insane, selfish and stupid. The fact remains that he was correct however, that he knew me a slight better than I knew myself. On his arguments or accusations of why I was in an insane, selfish and masochistic state I could offer no convincing arguments. I could only try to defend myself by belittling him, a ruse that was almost constantly seen though and discredited almost immediately.

The only thing I could come up with is that I was defeated, I was told to change the way I thought about the world and to become more wise through experience(my accuser himself being a maj of conviction but little practical experience and somewhat gullible). The anger I felt at such an accusation is hard to portray. I thought myself that I would become wiser and more intelligent in the ways of the world and the ways of life in general if I had more worldly experience, (which I must confess I had slightly little of, or so it appeared to my consciousness which has always been unreliably self deprecating) and to hear it out of the mouth of someone who was accusing me of stupidity was something to behold. I became bitter, angry, depressed and sad with myself. My reactions, I suppose being typical of a shite man in a shite situation.

Upon questioning my accuser fell apart, for his was a more emotional stance than an intellectual one, and he accused me of trying to shape the situation to my advantage, through systematic questioning, simply because I was threatened. I was indeed threatened at the time and do have to admit that I asked questions to get myself out of problems. I think now it is because I had no clear idea of what it was he was accusing me of, but I did, I’m lying. I was trying to get myself out of trouble because I knew he was telling the truth. And my question, for a part, was merely why do you have to be so frank, angry and harsh about it? My better self tells me however that this is a ridiculous standpoint and I must find other ways of dealing with my problems.

Just the same though I became very angry with him. But I couldn’t help but seeing he was right. My arguments were idiotic and I would have to find a better way to apprehend the world and to consider the actions of my fellow men. Was I so wrong? The world around me that I approach in my solitude does not offer such harsh convictions about the shortcomings of men. In short, I had no experience of such things. Being the type of man that I am however, ie. Indulgent and unfriendly with myself, I had to give credence to that which insulted and disturbed me deeply. I automatically assumed he was right because he had caused in me discomfort and because also I knew it to be so.

So the question arises as how to change myself and also, as an afterthought, how I came to be this way to begin with since I already believe that I am so. The strength of my accusers conviction and the depth of my uncertainty being enough to convince me. I feel myself lost in a lost world. My convictions tell me that I have nothing to offer lest it be to myself and that I have nothing to prove except in my own eyes. But how do you respond when someone convinces you of the most fundamental crimes and selfish stupidities, when you know that he is right and are so flabbergasted yourself that you can offer no excuses or reasons except to say that yes indeed he is correct and nothing you can do will change that for it has already happened exactly as it has been described? Do you distrust yourself and your own descriptions of the event? I would have to say yes since my own descriptions favored me far more than my accuser who I see now is obviously right.

January 16

The New Book

I bought a book yesterday from my friend the biologist. He said it was almost new and great reading. I paid eight dollars for it and I could hardly wait to read it. I had a busy schedule but I made a few hours for it on a Thursday.

I drove out to my favorite national park on a perfectly wonderful day. I had the book with me as I walked over to the sewage pond on the other side of the park. They say there is fish in it and I see people fishing all the time. But I think the only things floating around in there are terds wrapped in toilet paper.

There’s bench not too far from there where a sheep was gang banged by several teens. Where they picked up that sheep I’ll never know. But never the less besides the stench from the pond and the fact that those same teens are always hiding in those bushes near by waiting for people to use that bench. It is a nice spot and if you sit to the far left side of the bench they can’t see you.

I made myself comfortable and began reading that book. It was little tougher than I thought it would be since my friend had blacked out all the characters names and references and replaced them with genetic equations. But you know what it still was a really good book.

Category: Justynn Tyme | 1 Comment
January 14

A World of Difference

Simon sawed the legs off his coffee table. It was now lower, but still worked just as well.

He sawed the legs off of the piano. It remained in tune, and its proximity to the floor gave Simon a sense of creative boundaries.

He sawed the legs off of his wife. She wept, but in the end, it only served to bring them closer together.

He attempted to saw his own legs off, but found it not altogether comfortable, and instead bought himself a sandwich, which he cut the crust off of.
He decided that it somehow tasted better.