Friday, April 11, 2014
(this is an exercise)
I drink water from a quart-size mason jar while the jello shots set in the fridge. Freeze-dried edamame equals the new candy cigarette. You can tell I'm an experimental writer because my sentences don't coalesce.
also, sometimes i don't use proper capitalization!
I dance in soft leggings and a button-down on the living room rug. Good 'ol rocky top. The cat lies on my hoodie unimpressed.
By all means coat my nuts with sugar it's not like anyone can appreciate authenticity these days. I wanted to eat a goddamn almond not a sugar bomb. It's just as well; I learn to my chagrin that nut butters provoke the immediate and unrelenting growth of a large zit on the left side of my chin.
Emily Dickinson I apologize. Amelia Earhart I hope you are still alive. CVS brand trail mix you can burn in hell.
This piece is an exercise in writing when I do want to write. This piece is an exercise in writing when I do not want to write. This piece is an exercise in self-flagellation. Remember when you used your you-know-whats as a whip?
They lined the walls of the bedroom my eyes wide I thought if this is being adventuresome there's not a lot to miss. I do not need the flick of leather use your fingers make me quiver.
Emily Dickinson you dog.
If I write fast and long and hard enough I can bust through these confines what's up motherfucker the house is leaves the house is leaves yes I am blackness hurtling toward no-meaning onmyway I type hurtness and then accidntly naturally I start thinking naturally I'm snapped back to being here blinking at bright lights when did those get here I'm a space traveler motherfucker. I was there and I know it. This is an exercise in writing when I do not want to write.