There's neutrons and then there's photons
'Just lie to me, I'd rather be naïve.'
Being twenty is boring. There's no imagination to it.
I figured this kind of shit was going on like subways in Tokyo. Fucking forever. By the time I was forty, little would have changed. I looked at the time. Being forty is boring. There's no imagination to it.
Thursdays the Union Station stunk of the ninety-fives. I looked at the time. Gray cobblestone mixed with concrete is like contrasting colors. Kick on the floor, that shit won't turn white. It don't change, nothing does.
So I called the cocksucker again and he's not picking up. I looked at the time. Sometimes when the questions comes, I don't want to ask it—sometimes cocksuckers don't know that I don't know and that I'm new—they treat me like I'm some sort of foreigner. By the time I walked over to the large lady, she was old and deaf. I looked at the time.
She was wearing some cheap plaid stuff and some fucking gorilla tits and her hair was done by herself—ain't no reason to doubt it. The cocksucker was passing out tickets like she was born to do it. I held my hand in my pocket, stuffed it in there like a fist. Every man knows how to hide a snake.
[placeholder]
I once bought these over-sized headphones which were quite expensive and I still use them today. My ears they sometimes get cold, so I would put them on and listen to something substantial. Cocksuckers listen to all that stuff but all they do is pretend they like it—because I warrant the shit doesn't make any sense. I wagered once to my friend that he didn't know what he was listening to and he didn't. Shortly after, he became a cocksucker like the rest of them.
So the music was playing through the CD player. I looked at the time. Music makes me want to imagine things. Take the son of a bitch over at the pay phone. I don't know his name. I don't know his church. I didn't care. I looked at the time. The music made its rounds. I saw a lover pleading with his wife about how he botched the shit up. Honestly though, I knew he was talking about his stock options and expanding his portfolio. Hookers don't get married these days, they look for a man with stock options. I imagine that's the case these days
[placeholder]
but really I don't know what freedom is anymore. So I figure there's no reason to give me the poster. I didn't need a freedom poster.
Give me fiction
or give me death! I threw my flipper. Double flippers. It was beautiful. Nobody saw me. I was a pussy but I was a rebel.
Frankly, there's so much I want to know though. Non-fiction is boring. I want to know it. I came across this list, it's the top Google 'why' searches for the Chinese people:
1.Why did they go on the Long March?
2.Why are we alive?
3.Why do we need to drink water?
4.Why can't I open this page/link?
5.Why does my hair fall out?
6.Why can't I get online?
7.Why do we love?
8.Why study?
9.Why take part in exams?
10.Why get married?
Why are all these questions so fucking stupid, so fucking beautiful? The Chinese, no one trusts them. Who are they? They're just a lot of children. Kindergarteners with stupid questions. No one trusts children, they ain't got shit right.
note, replaced the word woman with 'fat lady' and 'hooker'
also replaced 'people' and 'person' with 'cocksucker'
still shitty
supposed to be autobiographical, sounds like pretentious garbage.
She was wearing something oddly plain that day. I couldn't stand it, it was like she didn't want to look like a girl but I promised to have a meeting followed by a walk. Father used to say, a man lives by his word. Sometimes, I think those stories were god damned pretty, I knew they were fiction.
So that's what we did. We walked nervously. I looked at the time. We strolled into this store nearby and her gait was upright almost in a stern kind of way.
The first thing I noticed was that the motherfucking oranges were stacked in such perfect order. They were really bright orange. If its anything those cocksuckers can do, it's stacking fruit. No one stacks fruit better than a cocksucker.
She was quiet that day and I didn't want any of my nonsense to get in the way. Instead of speaking she started asking boatloads of questions, so many I forget whether they were really questions she wanted answers for. I looked at the time. I looked around and I kind of strayed off. Peeps like me need to understand, that snake down there operates in the most inopportune moments. Snakes aren't exactly the best conversation starters either.
Then she started complaining,
'My breasts are nonexistent.'
and shortly after she changed the subject,
'Will I be alone?'
I pushed myself to one side of an aisle and I tried to collect myself and muster an answer.
Contrary to father used to say, sometimes there is no answer and the best answer is no answer.
'Honest to God, I don't know,' I had said or something like that sort, trying to hide that smirk on my face. Nothing could have been worse than that smirk. Whenever I get a question like that, I try to laugh it off.
There is no sane way that this was a rhetorical question. Stacking oranges, why the cocksuckers stack it that way... that's a mathematical principle. I looked at the time.
Answers can come off like huge mistake. The sort cocksuckers make on exams. Sweating sewer eyes and then write what that shit wants.
Something was off that day. She seemed to laugh at everything I said. One thing became startlingly clear. What I had fucking respected was just another faker. Someone is not listening. No one is listening anymore. They're all listening to their CD players and calling their fucking Citibank stock brokers. I noticed I had stopped listening a long time ago. Instead I started looking at the oranges more intently. Soon I said to myself, they're going to be fucking giving boob jobs like they do braces.
Granted I hate being serious. I looked at the time.
I spoke to a friend the other day. Then I knew I liked her too much because I thought of it too much. If a person thinks about something too much, he must love it. There ain't no denying it.
She stopped me in the hallway. I brushed the tips of my fingers on the walls. So I turned around but 'sorry' don't cut it anymore. Come here she demanded with her eyes. Of all the people, I knew what I had to do. I had to speak to my big fraud of a French teacher.
The cunt stared me down but I figured British people are like that. They treat themselves like fucking royalty. I was some vulgar little people bowing to an illegitimate monarch. I knew what I had to do. Give a fucking long oral presentation on some fucking rule. French speaking arrogant pricks, I suppose are the biggest cocksucker any cocksucker can aspire to be. Ain't nothing more self-important than speaking French and I know. J'aime.
'I won't do it again.'
Now piss off.
I looked at the time.
My parents made a modest living which means they never really made it in life. I doubt they will be able to live long and sometimes that's just the way things are.
Sometimes, they just didn't get it and they had children too young.
My dad waves at me, I put down my bags.
He goes, 'Hows you're day?'
'Nothing.'
I had rode on the bus for too long. Long trip. No one talks about it because no one admits it. It's like Colgate and Crest. They're supposed to whiten teeth but it's all a fraud. It's like mouth wash. It's like brainwash. I can't say how they did it before, in the seventies. I wonder. I look at the time.
Being twenty is boring. There's no imagination to it.
I figured this kind of shit was going on like subways in Tokyo. Fucking forever. By the time I was forty, little would have changed. I looked at the time. Being forty is boring. There's no imagination to it.
Thursdays the Union Station stunk of the ninety-fives. I looked at the time. Gray cobblestone mixed with concrete is like contrasting colors. Kick on the floor, that shit won't turn white. It don't change, nothing does.
So I called the cocksucker again and he's not picking up. I looked at the time. Sometimes when the questions comes, I don't want to ask it—sometimes cocksuckers don't know that I don't know and that I'm new—they treat me like I'm some sort of foreigner. By the time I walked over to the large lady, she was old and deaf. I looked at the time.
She was wearing some cheap plaid stuff and some fucking gorilla tits and her hair was done by herself—ain't no reason to doubt it. The cocksucker was passing out tickets like she was born to do it. I held my hand in my pocket, stuffed it in there like a fist. Every man knows how to hide a snake.
[placeholder]
I once bought these over-sized headphones which were quite expensive and I still use them today. My ears they sometimes get cold, so I would put them on and listen to something substantial. Cocksuckers listen to all that stuff but all they do is pretend they like it—because I warrant the shit doesn't make any sense. I wagered once to my friend that he didn't know what he was listening to and he didn't. Shortly after, he became a cocksucker like the rest of them.
So the music was playing through the CD player. I looked at the time. Music makes me want to imagine things. Take the son of a bitch over at the pay phone. I don't know his name. I don't know his church. I didn't care. I looked at the time. The music made its rounds. I saw a lover pleading with his wife about how he botched the shit up. Honestly though, I knew he was talking about his stock options and expanding his portfolio. Hookers don't get married these days, they look for a man with stock options. I imagine that's the case these days
[placeholder]
but really I don't know what freedom is anymore. So I figure there's no reason to give me the poster. I didn't need a freedom poster.
Give me fiction
or give me death! I threw my flipper. Double flippers. It was beautiful. Nobody saw me. I was a pussy but I was a rebel.
Frankly, there's so much I want to know though. Non-fiction is boring. I want to know it. I came across this list, it's the top Google 'why' searches for the Chinese people:
1.Why did they go on the Long March?
2.Why are we alive?
3.Why do we need to drink water?
4.Why can't I open this page/link?
5.Why does my hair fall out?
6.Why can't I get online?
7.Why do we love?
8.Why study?
9.Why take part in exams?
10.Why get married?
Why are all these questions so fucking stupid, so fucking beautiful? The Chinese, no one trusts them. Who are they? They're just a lot of children. Kindergarteners with stupid questions. No one trusts children, they ain't got shit right.
note, replaced the word woman with 'fat lady' and 'hooker'
also replaced 'people' and 'person' with 'cocksucker'
still shitty
supposed to be autobiographical, sounds like pretentious garbage.
She was wearing something oddly plain that day. I couldn't stand it, it was like she didn't want to look like a girl but I promised to have a meeting followed by a walk. Father used to say, a man lives by his word. Sometimes, I think those stories were god damned pretty, I knew they were fiction.
So that's what we did. We walked nervously. I looked at the time. We strolled into this store nearby and her gait was upright almost in a stern kind of way.
The first thing I noticed was that the motherfucking oranges were stacked in such perfect order. They were really bright orange. If its anything those cocksuckers can do, it's stacking fruit. No one stacks fruit better than a cocksucker.
She was quiet that day and I didn't want any of my nonsense to get in the way. Instead of speaking she started asking boatloads of questions, so many I forget whether they were really questions she wanted answers for. I looked at the time. I looked around and I kind of strayed off. Peeps like me need to understand, that snake down there operates in the most inopportune moments. Snakes aren't exactly the best conversation starters either.
Then she started complaining,
'My breasts are nonexistent.'
and shortly after she changed the subject,
'Will I be alone?'
I pushed myself to one side of an aisle and I tried to collect myself and muster an answer.
Contrary to father used to say, sometimes there is no answer and the best answer is no answer.
'Honest to God, I don't know,' I had said or something like that sort, trying to hide that smirk on my face. Nothing could have been worse than that smirk. Whenever I get a question like that, I try to laugh it off.
There is no sane way that this was a rhetorical question. Stacking oranges, why the cocksuckers stack it that way... that's a mathematical principle. I looked at the time.
Answers can come off like huge mistake. The sort cocksuckers make on exams. Sweating sewer eyes and then write what that shit wants.
Something was off that day. She seemed to laugh at everything I said. One thing became startlingly clear. What I had fucking respected was just another faker. Someone is not listening. No one is listening anymore. They're all listening to their CD players and calling their fucking Citibank stock brokers. I noticed I had stopped listening a long time ago. Instead I started looking at the oranges more intently. Soon I said to myself, they're going to be fucking giving boob jobs like they do braces.
Granted I hate being serious. I looked at the time.
I spoke to a friend the other day. Then I knew I liked her too much because I thought of it too much. If a person thinks about something too much, he must love it. There ain't no denying it.
She stopped me in the hallway. I brushed the tips of my fingers on the walls. So I turned around but 'sorry' don't cut it anymore. Come here she demanded with her eyes. Of all the people, I knew what I had to do. I had to speak to my big fraud of a French teacher.
The cunt stared me down but I figured British people are like that. They treat themselves like fucking royalty. I was some vulgar little people bowing to an illegitimate monarch. I knew what I had to do. Give a fucking long oral presentation on some fucking rule. French speaking arrogant pricks, I suppose are the biggest cocksucker any cocksucker can aspire to be. Ain't nothing more self-important than speaking French and I know. J'aime.
'I won't do it again.'
Now piss off.
I looked at the time.
My parents made a modest living which means they never really made it in life. I doubt they will be able to live long and sometimes that's just the way things are.
Sometimes, they just didn't get it and they had children too young.
My dad waves at me, I put down my bags.
He goes, 'Hows you're day?'
'Nothing.'
I had rode on the bus for too long. Long trip. No one talks about it because no one admits it. It's like Colgate and Crest. They're supposed to whiten teeth but it's all a fraud. It's like mouth wash. It's like brainwash. I can't say how they did it before, in the seventies. I wonder. I look at the time.
posted by darkwraithafter9 at 5:52 PM
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