P1

26Oct16

Punch down, slob-out. He’d been rackin’ me dry five days since and a ton more then on. Whine whine whi-ne. He talk swe-e-ee-eet.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fu-ck.

There ain’t two syllables to the word but you fill it with enough hate, and near ‘nough. Near enough been near enough now and years for years. Keep the beat. Right.

Fu-ck li-fe. One punch two more for rat dead Daddy never seen life but the inside of the dry run mines til the mine took him back. Cross out the hot trash. Beat trash. Cruel mash.

Yeah. Like a military chant.

Fu-ck heave-ho one-two. SLAM SLAM SLAM SHUT UP OLD MAN

Give punch a pain and see how he hits. Give her a car, give her a card. Give the the. The.

Fu-ck.

Fu-ck Sarah. Two-tied no-lied not my doing. Wait, cop. Don’t stop. Hit the fu-cking FUCK.

Oh. Fuck. Oh. Fuck. Yes two three now. Ooooooooh. More. Mo-re.

More things, sweeter things. Earth and Heaven too. Sweet voices and rolling, high thoughts. Like dreams. And ahhhh. And focus.

_Focus._

THANK YOU I CAN FOCUS FINE

Top now drawn out. Left right finish threw it. Fore most foot loose fucking cutthroat now it’s.

Fu-ck. Fu-ck. Slap on crap on the real now.

Too many syllables too many fuckups. Ah shit. Ah shit.

Where are we again? Lost again.

Fuck the dongle dreary hovel I came to punch the bag. And fuck the smooth talker.

Slip up fuck up with the wear– weary— whaTHUMP

A–. Aa–. Breathing sucked. Soft sound here now. Aaa. Aaa. There now.

“I never thought I’d see the Waltz of the Drunk Orangutan. I thank you for allowing me a glimpse at its splendor. Tell me, are you braindead or just crazy?”

“Fuck you.” The floor was soft wood.

“Seemed to me like you were losing focus. You flash those killer eyes, madman. Or stupid eyes. Hard to differentiate.”

“I made – (spit thick) – a (pausebreathe) new word.”

“Spell it for me so I know which of the two it is.”

“Fuu-chk”

Never slide a sidelong glare, but that was there. “Go the fu-ck ho-me.”

… yup

Walking was best. Better than laying. Better than dying.

“Wal-t-z”. Hard to say, hard to do, by the by. Didn’t rhyme. Didn’t flow. Like “Heaven”. Three bounce beats.

Then maybe somewhere you dance and she dances but not here and the drip dark brick. Spotlights and streetlights can’t reach their shine overtime.

The microwave dancefloor spun ’round the tender waltz. Look away cancer rays. Cancer in the bruises. Many. So very many. Bruises ain’t Heaven. Sad hand. Man. Maan. It _shakes_. Handshakes?

No, none here. Not now, not near ‘nough. Not for years for years by and by.

Keep the screens off. Don’t take fake pain. Full up. Fill up. Turn off.

Sleep. Always two phrase sle-ep. Sleep? Shh now. Run out. Die now. Rest now.

At least crushed meat earns the best sleep.


It was somewhat of a tradition in stories and tales that adventures would congregate in a meeting place, some local inn or tavern, to swap rumors and news and such. From these varied perspectives of strangers and sots, it would be only natural to see the birth of ventures of profit or pride.

But then wouldn’t it stand to reason that the only way to involve oneself in an adventure of any notability was to seek out and occupy a suitably welcoming space in such a candidate inn, sidle down and put on one’s most gregarious and loquacious face? Then, come what may, may adventure come to those who greet her. Such was the way of things, and it only stood to reason.

Reason may just be another name for the ultimate, and ultimately most boring, Catch-22 of history’ rambling: does greatness come to those who seek it, or do only the great leave their homes?

It doesn’t stand to reason that Fate would trifle with Reason. It would appear in all observable universes that the two had long since hashed out any differences between them and decided to hold a impartial friendship. Nowadays they mostly just go their separate lives then make time to meet up every other Sunday to shoot the shit, share a bag of Five Peppercorn Beef Jerky and play some Smash Bros.

The boxer, in his box, had very interesting dreams. Had he been willing or able to date again, he may have listed this as one of his positive qualities. This, of course, would attract no reasonable mates, but he didn’t care much for Reason. He was ever so much more lucid when Reason wasn’t there to hold him accountable. And that was a _very_ attractive quality to those who dealt in outside of the purviews of both Reason and Fate.

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