Nothing between us and the howling naked face of the universe.

broken teeth and shattered thoughts are all he can perceive. there is a sense that he cannot quite grasp a feeling that he knows should be just underneath but no matter how far down he reaches it stays just out of his grasp. he is tempted to think of himself in some overly romantic way as tantalus but then gets angry at his own fucking brain for its egotism. valium and scotch and coffee and music and it all fails to erase. sometimes after everyone is asleep he paces the house looking for the things he needs but they are not there. on tv they edited kill bill until it should have been funny but he is in no mood for that. he found a place to scream until his throat burned and it also did not help. this is a world of shit and he wishes that he had something meaningful to express but even that seems futile. even that. spleen. baudelaire and celine were the filthy bastards that understood. around him people pray but cares as much for that as for the long white beard of god. fuck he needs another drink.



  1. i think i need to make out with you like monkeys fuck


  2. Rabid monkeys? If so, I’m in.


  3. No….not rabid monkeys….I’m no slut.


  4. Bad monkeys, at least?


  5. yes. at least…


  6. okay then


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