2004-06-12 - 7:06 p.m.
you know
here's a few pictures of some dead(tying a little marriage knot between the qualifier and its prosthetic taxi)guy and a dramatic representation of what actually happened.. you know how many piles of flowers and teddy bears and deadguy,-we'll-miss-you posters are sprinkled all over america..
some girl has to bump into some pre-deadguy in biology class and borrow a pen and a piece of paper and then that deadguy has to ask about her upcoming class next period and comment on what a cool shade of whiteout she's painted her nails and then the girl has to build up a fond K-mart pre-photo insert memory of the upcoming deadguy until finally, deadguy's future ambition manifests itself all over a telephone pole and then she'll need to write out a big chalk message about how she misses his zesty presence on that sidewalk chock-full of meaning and every class he was in will need to delegate at least 30 or 40 more capable chalkers with comparable bubble hand writing and well wishes towards a deserving and peaceful afterlife.. then you multiply the cars, the deadguys, the beer, the chalk, the sidewalks, the telephone poles, the girls, the classes, the periods, the teddy bears and the tragedy-soaked newspaper clippings, and you've got a macrocosm of a tear. you have the only tear you'll ever need to reference for any school report about Vietnam or searching questions about the relationship between greed and world hunger or miscellanous murders or stubbed toes or allergies or missing relatives or childhood deformities.. all you need is one handy macrocosm to solve the multitude of adjacent riddles on the loose about the number of people left on the planet.
there's just one.
currently there is utter fuckery.. Kerry's desire to tell suffers from his need to lie..
Kerry finds himself lying constantly.. to the Reverend Sheldon that replaces his water filtration system every year.. to the Jamba juice cash register kid who thinks Kerry is somehow connected to the Ultimate Fighting Championships and wishes to come and train at his facility.. How Kerry ended up an Ultimate Fighter in the span of 30 seconds from a measly aquatic logo on the front of his t-shirt is not as significant as his desire to perpetuate and enhance his fictional importance in that blood soaked sport solidifying men's violent reputations before the eyes of this 16-yr-old health juice dishing aspirer..
(btw, let this be a lesson to other self-proclaimed writers-- it's always possible to write it. Always.)
Evan just fucked some crazy mentally scarred, hot tanned with droopy ass single-tattooed bitch in the early afternoon ..right before the bitch threw him out, claiming he didn't wear a condom. Evan claimed otherwise, hoping to escape the salt in your cuts direct eye contact address of a pending foster mom lecture.. But we both know Evan's side of the story.. (see previous paragraph concerning fat kid behind the Jamba Juice counter)... Evan comforted himself with the fact that the bitch's picture was alongside the dictionary definition of pulling teeth, and the less time spent in the vicinity of that joyless mumbling mouth and self-help book induced hindsight, the better.
Erika remained unhappy about losing hour after hour of each day to lotto-style anticipation ..and nursing the constant fleeing-rich oblivion usually associated with the attitude of handling out of control credit card debt.. whenever Erika's roster of upcoming men blossomed by phone and email, the sense of missing something significant that depended upon time grew pretty strong.. the 2 day old pot haze from the Thursday swimming pool gathering stimulated the nagging sense of missing time.. it produced a numbing effect on her physical nerve endings that typically sensed any immediate discomfort and acted as a time beacon..a reference for when..and how much when had been spent.. that was haywire at present.
DeShawn played lookout.. for things to do.. people to call.. places to visit.. conversations to strike.. satisfaction to be found.. like most lazy niggers, he was asleep on the job.
Sabrina felt emtpy. She hid that in a mason jar. Along with her quiet urges. living things are fragile.. and yet resilient.. this compelled Sabrina to play with that paradox.. gambling with life became cutting the grass..
