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* * *
Most people play a sport. I have a lot of sex.

"Oh my god. I don't know what the hell I was having before but it sure wasn't sex."

I just took the gold medal for tsawwassen

* * *
After she has gone, he stands and listens...To the water, the trees, the insects. Autumn is coming. Autumn...and something else. Something dark. In the corner of his eye, a sudden blur of grey, moving through the treetops, up to the right. He turns, focusing. It's gone. He stands. He wonders...What comes with the autumn?

It's ten minutes after five and the shadows are growing longer. Something is wrong. Something's been wrong all day. The birds are silent in the branches. The 'gators stay close to the bank, stomachs full of rocks and broken turtle shells. Troubled, he sits and sleeps. And dreams. It is a dream of someone else, someone who wore flesh and not foliage. A frightened man. A man in a furnace. Alec Holland.
He can hear the roar of the explosion, hear the dreadful sizzling and bubbling and popping. He is propelled, a blazing stringless puppet through the flames like some chaotic martyr. And he screams..and falls...and wakes. And thinks: What is it that comes with the autumn? And knows: It is fear.

Yes, for every child, rich or poor, there's a time of running through a dark place; and there's no word for a child's fear, and no ears to hear it if there was a word, and no one to understand it if they heard. God save the little children. They abide and they endure.

It began with a death...it began with blood. It began with blood, I guess it'll probably end the same way. Until then, I keep running. There's a stitch in my side. My chest hurts and my saliva tastes funny. I wish there was a barrier, a fallen tree, an excuse to just stop and sit down and cry and give up. I wish. We're almost there. At the heart of it. I can feel it. I can feel it in the air. Dry, prickly, a leaden pressure on the eardrums. A fat, dark worm that writhes in your gut. It thickens the night into cold, congealed gelatin. It stops the hearts of birds. I used to think I knew from fear, I didn't. All I knew were the suburbs of fear and now here I am, in the big city.

In Roberta's room, something small and cold clambers across the counterpane. There is a sound...polyethylene going in and out, very fast.
* * *
You think you know me. You think you know what I am. What I am capable of. You know nothing. I am grace. I am beauty. I am death. I am the hunter. You think you know me?
* * *
Today I got bored on my 15 minute break at work and made a tattoo appointment.

I should not be allowed to get bored, for it costs me the lower half of my leg. On the bright-side (the whole thing) I'm super stoked and this is gonna look more bad-ass than your grandmother in leather on the back of a harley with her arms around Marilyn Manson.

* * *
I wonder when its gonna stop being fun for me.
Five fucking seconds from now.
I really need to quit before it all turns to shit.
Too fucking late for that.
I wonder when I really stopped being good at this.
Was I ever good at this.
I know its shit but it is something I will not admit.
Too fucking bad for you.



Is it simple enough for you does everybody understand does are you all still following me?

* * *
I'm a goddamn snob. I get so irritated by really dumb crap.
Oh and I'm a horrible human being. I'd probably be a good something else though. Like a panther. Or komodo dragon.
* * *
I'll let you make me.

Selfishselfishselfish
Do it.

* * *
Dog in gutter. Tire tracks on burst stomach.

AHHH SWOON.
He knows me fairly well I'd say.

On another tangent:

He looked at her, smiling.
"Haven't you ever been in love before?"
She said.
"Shut up."

* * *
"Overall, your answer indicates an understanding of lessons 1-4. I look forward to your next paper"

Hah-hah. Joke's on you. I didn't read lessons 1-4.
I'm a genius.
Or an idiot

* * *
It's all just a big joke.
One huge joke
I choose to laugh at it all.
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