I never did - and I never would have - but it had long been a thought. My stored up fantasy dried up in the far-off desert, and here I pursue my truer Romance in the city.
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I never did - and I never would have - but it had long been a thought. My stored up fantasy dried up in the far-off desert, and here I pursue my truer Romance in the city.
She vomited words that sickened everyone but her. Still, she wouldn't stop her quasipoetics. Their "Gawd!" became her "Cod...isn't that some sort of fish? Haha!"
A road sign finally stopped her: Alive Again Taxidermy. Fascination with resurrection delivered by taxi in both German and English left her speechless.
I picked up my first hitch-hiker on a Wednesday. I'm not sure why I remember the day of the week; I couldn't tell you the month and only hazard a 50/50 guess at the year. She was cute and grateful. I dropped her off just outside Grantham - nice town.
From late winter to summer of that year, they were in the meadows, looking for the remote. A late rainstorm washed the red spots off and when Bill came out in September he found them draped over each other, mossy, nude, drinking beer. ‘Say’, he said, 'what's the big idea?'
Today I went to court with a few friends. I watched five dudes get prosecuted for steeling beer. They were given small fines. One of my friends fell asleep.
Rivitted to repulsive eyes in the littleness of that curious yet frightful age, I sought the thing I already was mapping my escape from. With an unexpected shift to where I had never been, I entered, but was caught. Worry not, but wonder as to what was my rescue.
Watching an ant make his way onto a shard of glass gave me the peculiar sensation of watching some so called hunters shooting deer from a blind. So I picked him up and dumped him in the river, broken glass and all. The sun was about to fry him anyway.
Avoided I the gaze of all those others. I turned my back on them all, only to turn and see the one. I knew this one at once, and I saw my face reflected upon knowing pupils. As she watched through windows, a door opened for us to join up in one place.
A chance meeting, lunch the following week, drinks the next, your arm latches onto mine, a mutual understanding. A year later my smile broadens on waking, I sing to the showerhead, eternal sun even on cloudy days, sumptuous love. Each day, I feel more than the last. Love’s powerful intoxication.
All that was real she had to conceal. The burden reduced her, finally, to tears. Those dervish days intended to propel her into infinity had instead drained her, pained her into this.
It was a taste she didn't recognize - one she deserved - for her duplicity.
Time to go to work.
Mother always said never to trust a man with just a moustache; still, her heart paPOOMed when she saw him.
Tall, dark, and exquisitely ahhhhh, he raised his hand.
She held THE BOOK.
"Do you swear to tell the truth...?"
Their eyes met.
"I do."
Oh, dear! Mother?
A Tale of Two Twitties.
A story by Dr. Cenderlar Harmeshing Jones, PHD, Proffessor 'A P.T.E.S.G. Toole, and Dr. Bernado Elehandero Messersmicht.
A foreward by Dr. Jones (not including the story which is fifty words exactly).
When we first started the composition of this story a few months back, I can remember the almost daunting task that lay before us brilliant proffessional, in composing a singular work of art that would capture all the joy and wonderful expression of the human essence. After months of researching through books, papers, etc. We finally compiled enough information to make a story of this measure possible. Why we could have filled the lower part of Oxford alone with the books needed on researching this subject.
It has for the most part been exhausting, but overly rewarding, and it is our firm belief that this will join the ranks of some of the greatest human literature known to man. So without further adieu, please enjoy the fruits of our labour.
Dr. C.D. Jones
Jerod Forham puffed his pipe, sandwiching in the garden, while Abbigail, was watering roses.
"Do you think Westminster shall be over?"
"I dare say, he shan't, I've got an appointment at twelve."
Ever since that day Abbigail has been in St. Betricts mental asylum for dissolutionment. Jerod kept his doctors appointment.
I awoke on the floor of an empty room. It had two doors, with a sign in between.
The sign said, “Enter the left, and love will touch all mankind. Enter the right, and you will die in five minutes.”
I used four of them to write this.
A man took five steps back and scanned for hope. He wanted canonization, and self-actualization, and buried treasure, and forgiveness.
His head dimmed as it swiveled. Something felt sharply like a needle and resounded deep within him. It was all he remembered.
The man, sat in front of his computer monitor, the putrid stench of febreeze air freshner clung to the inside of his nostrils. "Hell yeah" he so eloquently soliloquized "I learned how to play the main guitar riff from Aqualung". Now as pleasantly satisfied as the man was, something was unacounted for, "Ahhh yes" thinking to himself once again, "my cigarette".
-Excerpt from My life approximately 15-25 mins ago.