Then, my eyeball squeezed out of its socket with a squishy pop and landed on the floor, where it scurried off on what looked like tiny human legs or baby fingers. Before I could grab it, the thing dove into a mouse hole in the wall, where it lives to this day.
And that's why I wear an eye patch and also I'm selling this house for such a bargain.
End
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Cassette Tape Blues
We drifted toward eachother in that metaphysical space
The seventh sub-basement beneath the building of our minds
That dark nothing under our conscious reality
And you pulled me in like a supermagnet
Our attraction wasn't merely physical or emotionalmental
It wasn't fate or will's design
We swam through crawl spaces between the places outside space
And holding hands fell through the schisms in reality
Then winked out like a distant lighthouse
The seventh sub-basement beneath the building of our minds
That dark nothing under our conscious reality
And you pulled me in like a supermagnet
Our attraction wasn't merely physical or emotionalmental
It wasn't fate or will's design
We swam through crawl spaces between the places outside space
And holding hands fell through the schisms in reality
Then winked out like a distant lighthouse
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Friday, September 13, 2013
Confessions of a Fat Foodie
My workplace has free donuts every Friday. Within a year of working here, I will be the fattest person you know.
One of the hardest things about being an adult is making good nutritional choices. But I have no self control. I probably eat just like my 8 year old self would have if given the opportunity. I love food. Especially the unhealthy kind.
Once a week, I will eat a salad, covered with grilled chicken, cheese, croutons, and fatty dressing. Then I will go on a short walk, maybe a block or two, and pat myself on the back. "You're so health conscious." I will say, and that night I will reward myself by eating a whole box of organic peanut butter sandwich cookies.
One of the hardest things about being an adult is making good nutritional choices. But I have no self control. I probably eat just like my 8 year old self would have if given the opportunity. I love food. Especially the unhealthy kind.
Once a week, I will eat a salad, covered with grilled chicken, cheese, croutons, and fatty dressing. Then I will go on a short walk, maybe a block or two, and pat myself on the back. "You're so health conscious." I will say, and that night I will reward myself by eating a whole box of organic peanut butter sandwich cookies.
Monday, September 2, 2013
When I Grow Up
When I grow up I want to be a blues man, a firefighter, and an astronaut. I want to be a reclusive writer and an infamous swordsman. I want to be a race car driver and I want to fight crime. I want to throw the most extravagant soirees on the planet and host the most intimate dinner parties. I want to travel with a lost carnival and see all of the world's wonders.
I want to be famously transparent to the point of exhibitionism, and I want to be an enigma, ever shrouded in mystery. I want to be a million years old and never age a day.
I want to have muscles that cut your eyes when you look at them and I want to be on magazine covers. I want to eat anything and everything I desire.
I want to be a devout husband, a loving father, and a pious saint. I want to run around with all of the prettiest girls and be the most worldly-wise man for miles.
I never want to die. I want to own a hovercraft and move objects with my mind. I want to stand on the edge of the planet and watch the sun burn out.
Then I want to sit in the darkness and listen to the stars until I lose my mind and drift off into outer space.
I want to be famously transparent to the point of exhibitionism, and I want to be an enigma, ever shrouded in mystery. I want to be a million years old and never age a day.
I want to have muscles that cut your eyes when you look at them and I want to be on magazine covers. I want to eat anything and everything I desire.
I want to be a devout husband, a loving father, and a pious saint. I want to run around with all of the prettiest girls and be the most worldly-wise man for miles.
I never want to die. I want to own a hovercraft and move objects with my mind. I want to stand on the edge of the planet and watch the sun burn out.
Then I want to sit in the darkness and listen to the stars until I lose my mind and drift off into outer space.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Update: Project 157
I have undertaken a deadly task.
I have committed to writing all 157 within a year of the project's inception.
Which means writing about 5 stories a week!
I think I'm going to die.
G
End.
I have committed to writing all 157 within a year of the project's inception.
Which means writing about 5 stories a week!
I think I'm going to die.
G
End.
WIP: Technically Virgins
They were breathing so heavily. He hadn’t expected all of the shaking, he felt like his hormones would tear right through him. His jaw chattered like he was freezing to death.
The sheets were scratchy and moist, the room was cold. Half-light fluttered in through the half open windows, street lights and headlights. The curtains whipped.
Her skin was the softest thing he had ever touched. He ached when he stroked her with his index finger. Dogs barked in the distance, an ambulance wailed far away. Her lips were the softest pinks and reds as they tenderly teased him.
Slowly, they undressed. A sock here, then a button followed by a zipper. Everything was faded and muted, heartbreaking yellows and cold, dark blues.
Neither one of them really knew what to do with their bodies, and nothing and everything felt right.
They smelled like sweat and body spray, the sheets had been freshly cleaned, and reeked of dryer-sheet perfume. He spoke then she spoke, roughly, unsure of what to say. “I love you” was what seemed appropriate, even though neither of them were sure it was true.
A flurry of aggressive kisses. Their mouths were dry and wet. He bit her lip and she bit his neck. They wanted to eat each other up. What they wanted the most they wouldn’t do. Too many promises and prayers for purity.
Abstinence was their cherished value, and no matter how flushing things ever got, they were still technically virgins.
The sheets were scratchy and moist, the room was cold. Half-light fluttered in through the half open windows, street lights and headlights. The curtains whipped.
Her skin was the softest thing he had ever touched. He ached when he stroked her with his index finger. Dogs barked in the distance, an ambulance wailed far away. Her lips were the softest pinks and reds as they tenderly teased him.
Slowly, they undressed. A sock here, then a button followed by a zipper. Everything was faded and muted, heartbreaking yellows and cold, dark blues.
Neither one of them really knew what to do with their bodies, and nothing and everything felt right.
They smelled like sweat and body spray, the sheets had been freshly cleaned, and reeked of dryer-sheet perfume. He spoke then she spoke, roughly, unsure of what to say. “I love you” was what seemed appropriate, even though neither of them were sure it was true.
A flurry of aggressive kisses. Their mouths were dry and wet. He bit her lip and she bit his neck. They wanted to eat each other up. What they wanted the most they wouldn’t do. Too many promises and prayers for purity.
Abstinence was their cherished value, and no matter how flushing things ever got, they were still technically virgins.
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