glossolalias

I’m obsessed with the trade of beautiful people and especially wives or slaves or prostitutes who were at times the most educated, independent, but those were just exceptions, weren’t they, unlike the men who wore their perfumed skins like softest leather and then smothered them under their mass delusions of hysteric femurs screaming about a revolution to come and rip their penises straight from their bodies, and I think; whales have a language we don’t understand, there’s never been a system of government that doesn’t become Feudalism in practice. I prayed to a god 3 times a day just because someone told me t

 —Park over there. —Where? —Across the street. By that shitty little park. Yeah, just pull in. —Your uncle's home? —Yeah, he'll tweak, but Eric said it'll be fine if I just come through. He doesn't want it looking like a drug house so I have to chill till he says I can go. —I could just park in the driveway and go in with you. It'll look less shady than this, if you think about it. —He doesn't want to see anyone else right now, either. He's still tripping balls on some shit he took a couple days ago. —He already knows me. It should be fine. I don't want to just park over here, it looks sh

I didn't know the bridge would fall or that the water beneath could consume the last structures of an identity, when held still I don't fight anymore. The architects were ignorant. I make gills and breathe, submit to pressure, the last car to fall is black. I don't care anymore. The shore persists.

Unfamiliar Brunette who wears red sweaters, were you to give me a chance... I would probably greet you awkwardly with a quick half-wave beneath my ribcage. I would then adjust my glasses, wondering if I was supposed to know you, sweating at my hairline as I desperately tried to decide whether or not to say your name, which I learned when I heard the professor say it while you were chatting at her desk. I would stare too longingly at your face, attempting to decipher whether or not you realize I have no fucking clue of what to say. Finally, I would muster from the depths of social ineptness, my hands wound tightly behind my back, "Uh, it's n