Favorite Words:
Ding bat flying with his nypsrustle. They clatter and skitter and flop down on the loam. White spade serpents suck them up and swallow, bellowing swiftly and sneezing for more. Big rough pumpernickel stuck to the throat of a mammoth neanderthol whomping with fear. Choking it down, he burps at the serpents, then rushes away on his gray palomino. I pass on by through this thicket of corn, away from the rot of an urban black cesspool of candy corn houses aligned near the Starbuckses. I’m on the lamb now, took to snyping the citizens, a good deal of fun, but troublesome consequences. My niece ratted me out, the precocious little brat, chewing her pop rocks like butter and telling the cops all about my body count.
Clouds gathering and merging now like amoebas eating their progeny. Not the white Disney friendly puffs, but the yellow, blue scaled miseries that ruin a planned weekend in Carmel. I could be sucking garlic snails off of delicate china in an evergreen forest, but I’m hammering messages through my grouse and carboy linoleum roller instead, buttoning down and striking out with a plastic tarp for downtown. God Damn those clouds.
Two many alphas and not enough omegas in this city. Everyone’s starting something, “getting it going,” “getting it showing,” Level 3 Wizards, and Rambo 3 fatalities, and omega 3 vitamins wrapped up so thick inside a health blog, I’m waxing visceral. Out.
