Hey people of the nest I’ve been experimenting with writing short stories this what I got so far enjoy
Here’s a story that minds that rarely meet, here’s a story about the conflicting ideologies of Capitalism and humanitarian undertones that swept the 20th fucking century.
I saw that Gypsy clown again dancing right in front of me trying to get his coins to reach the next destination he had to be, According to him. This wiry Bronze haired gentlemen was holding a bag of his own feces. Being that I am a Defense Attorney and I have came across toothless wonders like this before I find Myself completely unfazed by his unfortunate nature, due to my long history with social work with pro Bono work. His Name was and of Course I’m quoting him when i say this;” Arthur Bingsley”. he had the yellowest eyes that I have came ever across, however his right eye had a tinge of red touching the outside of his pupil. He said it was his “wiser eye”, for what ever that means I’m not sure. His clothes having a dirty regal and old fashioned nature to them as well as his name ,suggests to me hat he has a notion he was from the 18th century or something. I can’t say that I didn’t like him he had a very genuineness to him, despite his delusions and mild cases of schizophrenia, he was not at all a dangerous or violent person. So I gave him all change I had and he said ” farewell young journeymen good luck in your ventures, and I bid you Adieu”, Its funny I never Knew what the fuck he meant by that but he said that every single time. I know, I know he’s a bum I’m not helping him by giving change and believe me coming from Washinton D.C the Homeless mecca of the U.S. and Ironically the nations capitol as well, I never give change to bums. Reasons being; One I’m Cheap, two coming from second generation Irish parents of nine children you got make your own fucking way and fight for every scrap you get, and finally three I guess I don’t give a fuck about the plight of my fellow man unless it has a dollar sign at the end of it. what Can I say I got this capitalistic mind set that Ayn fucking Rand babbles on in her stupid fucking books that I had to read in undergrad but I didn’t give a shit, I knew who I was and I knew what I was doing. To me everything has been earmarked and anyone can be got and their it is. Enough about though this Arthur Bingsley was really something, he was entertaining and despite his many flaws he was very talented individual. to this day i’m still not sure if he is a better con artist than myself and secretly I admired the fuck. It was like the Vulcan mind meld with this guy he knew how to connect with audience. if it was kids he made them animal balloons, rich snobby ivy league liberal fags he would quote Shakespearean literature, serenade ugly, fat or old women with songs from the top of his head with guitar in hand. it didn’t matter he did it. I mean I caught him on his crazy day I guess but bums I guess have days worse compared to mine.
Habits are a thing that have a pertinent ring. I’m not a sister who cant put it on as soon as I hear a peculiar ring. Its a call from an uncertain place with a person unknown to me, a unfamiliar face. Ritualized and actualized by a man from an uncertain place to confounded to a calling card for a person of a certain grace….. WE ARE LOST IN SPACE!!
for a individual that tries to grab, its lost something that they can not have as trying to catch a cab to a level of tranquility and to me this is my soliloquy. A bender a turn to forget a thought that do’sent rhyme its just wrought with regret of a place that I cannot forget, my consciousness.
RUN as fast as can you can’t find me, I’m in a tower of of unconscious friends with no rhyme or reason to their unconscious bends. A piece of solid oak has been twisted, soaked, chipped, twisted that bent. as the oak is twists it begins to crack as it soaks it’s color lacks as it chips the smoothness becomes hacked
Habits alone have manifested to to something that’s quite unattested to the reflections of something pubescent, sad really? We are so alone extraterrestrial really ET PHONE HOME. In these habits we all have become drones to the silence of consciousness making us really….. ALL ALONE :(
Calling out to the wild man out in the corner in there, grab your club and drinking horn and bring a hell that no ones heard before and let the fires consume you incarnate. The madness cannot be definable or determined by concrete things so wild man live on and be free live like no man has ever lived before. Don’t look BACK because you will surely turn to stone and die an average man. Your kind is not alone just silently waiting there turn to be counted and to be realized. Fight and run because you surely will not feel what others are feeling. However keep in mind the code of chivalry that binds you to reality otherwise let the rest folly in niceties and measuredness for it is surely not meant for you to live this way and you know it to be true deep in the bowls of being. There is a soul that needs to taste randomness and blind assertions for without them you grow in a tired weary state of the afterthought of the world trying to consume your soul. Live free my little wild man and die hard because this is the only truth you know and to go another way makes you an unauthentic piece of shit that moseys around. Breath that hot fucking fire you dragon of a man because that is you….. A wild man
Laughter can be learned
Copied often and empty and churned
Its hard to do alone
Even harder over the telephone
Can you do it when you’re mad
Can you do it when you fuck up bad?
When you can’t do it at all
That’s when the souls dead and sprawled
Cause laughter is just hard as to be a serious
And people think the ladder is better their real quite delirious
Cuz when you think about the time
Its there’s, his, or hers them or mine
It’s just yours so laugh for no reason riddle or rhyme
I sat there, match lit while pulling it towards my cig.
There they were….
Gliding around me, helpless prey
One landed upon my hand.
Glaring into my eyes, its yellow hues baffled me .
Taking the match from me, it struck it and edged towards me.
Lighting my cigarette, helping my eventual demise.
Neverending from the chain of one helping another.
Birds of a feather
I laugh in your faces you big fat disgraces with all your baseness you are all so faceless
I Function so high and work all the time while you’ll all laugh in my tired eyes that I have beaten you with
You all suck so bad it makes me quite glad to see you talk about nothing of who what when and what they have
You stupid little sheep you all so meek that you can simply kiss the tips of feet
I am so glad that you are all so mad at the mundanely meaningless meager lives that adorned as fads
These haters full of flies covered in shit they despise the lightning that beams around them until their demise they find the shit
Haters are like fire as you do better they burn the wood you stack that they admire because they are king-less no sire they suck and that’s it
The riddle is not for them that I speak it is for me and only me I do decree on one knee that they have no wood the gaseous sponges they are to me
So Off with their heads because their smoke is choked dumb little souls can only poke and not soak they vastness that they lack thereof to be truly stoked that’s all folks
The court is now adjourned and I’m so fucking sorry vapidity didn’t get its turn but we all must learn that mainstream is average that just burns