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intravenousDinner is Ready A Hispanic wave of terror beset me. They rode wheelchairs, a tempestuous gang of incapacitated Mexicans. Why were they pursuing me?intravenous
A selected few of the brethren wielded cutlery. I darted down the cobblestone road, ignoring the disabled delinquents. A bee collecting nectar caught my eye as beads of sweat began to cascade across my forehead. They were advancing on me. “Dinner is ready,” hollered what seemed to be the ringleader.
An intravenous drip machine lay strewn in the middle of the road. The wheelchair flourishing mob swerved around it frantically and continued
by ~mynoreti
infinite samenessEmblazoned on his chest was the insignia of a group of thieves, Thieving dignity like empty sugar sachets. Thieving nail polish from our faces and the tops of refrigerators. Thieving tradition from the tribes and our forefathers. Thieving suds from unwashed iguanas and rotting fauna. It was the infinite sameness that made us sick. It was the shards of glass bottles under our feet, and the drains of cascading spider legs contaminating our reservoir. It was the wrinkled, weathered elderly breasts Mammary glands left idle for three decades, eighteen minutes.infinite sameness
Stomaches were callou
by ~mynoreti
climaxes are lifea rolling snare permeates, bow down and taste the lizard of floorboards maybe he feels like smashing plates, return to bulldoze the blur of hordesclimaxes are life
a list of things you need to buy, a rusty lettuce, a stale nail, a way to leave this dilapidated catastrophe.
there is no way to determine anything, except for the will to do nothing at all, and whether you eat beans or potatoes is a bigger decision than anything else you will ever encounter.
your psyche just exists to make it seem like you have something to think about. we're just masses of chemicals, bouncing off of the walls, into each other. &n
by ~mynoreti
eat my pissa lesson in dystopian bullshit i'm an outlet for your condensation rewrite my epitaph and i'll let you sip the milk from the teet of a mystery boxeat my piss
disable the wires in my arm harm bracket, lonely lens instruction manual on the table another fable already told
friends, or a slut waiting on the beach with a decapitated head and a basket of bread rolls we'll see how french you feel buried 6 feet in that sand. fucker.
by ~mynoreti
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