I feel like this, and burn money for warmth. In god we trusts breath is like going from the wombs consolation to being intolerably cold, and never feeling comfortable again. Learning to cuddle the raw sensation, unpleasant as it may be, welcoming the suffering; I sprayed a cockroach with Clorox bleach solution, and then squished it with a paper towel. It survived, and seemed to glance up at me as I delivered a final bash, crumpling the repugnant carcass with the tissue and casting it insensitively into the garbage bag. Then the realization slowly soaked in- I am a roach from certain perspectives, and those same people would not hesitate to spray me with chemicals and crush my body into a worthless cripple.. A hooded thief walks the street looking for jewelry and purse. This is how it begins. The buildings are single story, brick, from the past but inviting. In the darkness, the small community rests in peace, so far away and insignificant, the locals leave the doors unlocked. Past the barbershop where the military gets its beard shaved, old men amble without purpose, men who have enough money to live sparingly without working. Mothers burn average-priced cigarettes, as their young children run lightheartedly in front. Women talk with one another and note their reflection in storefront windows. Within his apartment a basement furnace incubates mason jars filled with bacterial cultures devouring severed memories.
After a ripening period he will enjoy disposing of the liquidized remains through the drainpipe of his flush toilet. The sanitation plant processes organic material washed into the sewer to use as tap water. The thief smiles forever as he fills his cup from the public spigot. Eye to eye is how he lives, because he feels time is important. To accomplish things in the most efficient way possible he begins to lure alzheimer’s into the public bathroom slowing his thoughts down at this point is important, because far back in the corner of the mind it was like looking down a square tunnel, with flowing flannel fabric on the surfaces. Pastel dull gun-blue metal but warm fuzz waving and quivering, and it streaming away from me, buy plants to clean the air. In front of the restaurant where they chop pork I meet old men who are unaware of the quickened youthful, ill pull each hair out of their beard and drill the follicle with blunt-tipped microscopic rubber bits that are skin toned and will massage and stimulate as they spin precisely inside the pore. They will talk of gospel truth but most parents tell their children to not believe anything100% until you witness it yourself. Bitter electricity through the center of my chest and all my internal organs were gravitated toward the clouds, a shameless force drawing a vacuum above the street! Pulling me past the buildings, rising above the city with the heavy starlight showing what was beneath, all the houses and trucks exchanged for toys.
-------------------- my tax dollars going to more hits of acid for charles manson
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