Saturday, June 29, 2013

Excerpt #1 from: The Stings Don't Hurt So Bad When You're Busting Down The Beehive


 




“This is going to be a significant moment. A change!”

Fuck that.

I am standing on the porch smoking a cigarette behind the crowd of people gathered on the stairway.

Mel is in the street about to symbolically release an orange birthday balloon into the sky.

Her hand holds the purple string attached to the bottom of the balloon.

She looks uncomfortable: shoulders hunched, face frozen in an awkward expression like a cartoon ice cream freezer pop.

Her roommate lights her up with flash photography.

“Dude, ____ this is going to be a real fucking significant. Like a breath of fresh air or something. And I have documented the event as it occurred.”

“Yeah!” someone says.

“Go ____!” someone else says.

Alone and observing, I remembered something my third grade teacher said about the ramifications of releasing balloons into the air. She said they have the potential to pop over the ocean and kill a whale.

Rubber lodged in the blowhole.

My third grade teacher is dead because of a brain tumor, and I never really liked my third grade teacher—a full year of lunch detention.

Her roommate turns around and lights up the crowd kidnapping another moment in time.

“Dude these photos are going to come out so fucking great! Yo, did I tell you guys that I’m going to be doing a photo shoot in Philly for _____ Magazine sometime next month? It’s going to be so fucking rad man. I mean I already did a shoot with some porn stars, but this could mean the big time.”

I think about what constitutes the “big time” for her roommate and think about its relevance.

Mel is still standing in the street holding a balloon and looking uncomfortable.

Real uncomfortable.

The honest kind of uncomfortable which you see in high school locker room showers.

I think about a car coming around the corner too fast and hitting her on the hip, her doing a backflip, and landing on her feet, looking around to see if we all saw what had just happened.

I think about cutting off her roommate’s tongue, gluing it to his forehead, and calling him a unicorn for the rest of the night, while someone else took photos to document this moment in time.

Her hand let’s go and the balloon hovers upwards following a path of ascension.

Snap.

“WOOOOO!” someone says.

“Yeah!” someone else says.

Flash.

I think about a whale dying.

I think about shooting the balloon down before it disappears, and ruining the whole moment.

Mel reaches the sidewalk, newly baptized.

Still uncomfortable.

I think about how I am a piece of shit, and a horrible person who should drown in a bath tub of chocolate pudding.

So pointless.

(BTW: That magazine that contacted him was actually a fraud scam based out of Philly.)

almost done with The Stings Don't Hurt So Bad When You're Busting Down The Beehive.

I'll post an excerpt tonight and another tomorrow.

Stay Brutal!

Thursday, June 27, 2013

all of my accompishments can fit into a single 12x6 envelope

I keep thinking about the pair of glass automatic doors malfunctioning while I'm walking through them, slicing me in half. Out of one of my halves emerges a magician in a black suit, shiny shoes, a top hat, and purple cape, and out of the other his assistant covered in pink sequins.

The assistant poses with her hand, palm upwards, next to my body, while the magician yells, "TADA! Now onto Atlantic City!" to unfazed employees and customers before disappearing in a cloud of smoke, and reappearing at the bus stop down the street.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

My Mom Says The People I Hangout With Don't Stimulate Me, Which Is Why My Life Is Stagnant.

"We should go over Kayla's and play Mario Kart. I would rather do that. You remember her MV? She went to the hookah bar with us that one time. Plus, she's hot and I want to hook up with her. Like, why do you want to paint anyway? That sounds stupid."

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Sometimes I Wish We Were Eagles

I wish I could fall asleep in the notch between her arm and chest.

Instead, I pass out on the keyboard with her picture opened on my computer screen.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Gettin Wavy Off Quarts Of Iced Tea

Someone today told me that they are swimmin in bitches and if I want to get hooked up to just let him know because he's at least gettin head every night.

I politely declined.

Topp D (Stepping Into The Realm Of Meaningless Bullshit, Smelling It, And Throwing Up Into Front Yard Bushes.)

The only reason forty to eighty something customers like me is because I'm on drugs 100% of the time.

Shit, I rather be at home, in bed watching cartoons and eating rice pudding.

Another money consuming addiction.

Nowadays, I kill a motherfucker over a pound of rice pudding.


Straight up.
And if I don't pick up, you bet those forty to eighty somethings are going to hate me because I didn't save enough for tomorrow.

And haters gonna hate, except they forget I'm the one with all the fucking knives.


I'm striving to keep my 100% record.

If I had more money, I would only kill myself quicker.