In underpants I come, like a frail old man to the pan, Luke himself with no rabbits, no hole, like sweaty anxiety for a cross. I seize my mind in myself, loathing the echo, where could Jung hide me from the systems. Sex chatter anonymous tells me she is not a sex chatter, in time it proves true. I wash my hands after a poo, just as though I am a doctor.
Now coming to terms with these forces, like paranoid delusions, the illusion that somehow you’ll be great, as a victim. You will fight out of that paper bag, you will adorn yourself a medal, in hell you will float up and up, to the clouded stairs.
“I fight that shit (evil)” she says. We all wish the best for our army don’t we. In some moment with arms and legs being blown off I guess we all just wish to die. Lucky me sitting here in clicks. I did move my computer to another room with a long cable to have my peace.
Short bursts now like semen. Like the breasts sagging in orgasms. Or so I remember from a distant past. Too brutal? Baselitz would agree. The sodomy of Greece was more relaxed than a knife on a street. Carry our butter to battle son’s, we must always have bread.
“Now my dear, my one, get me a beer.”
“We only have whiskey baby.”
The trouble starts and on and on the divorces amount. Can no one enjoy sex for 50 years anymore with one person? I can’t, she died… I hear the sex continues even with viagra, the men and women happier now. Some cows have it easy, plopping out calves for slaughter, sounds a dream.
O.k. I cannot continue with you farting near me. Its an office isn’t it, a secluded space for professionals. At $74 a week you can have a dedicated desk and never fear again. So I must go dear, I have victims and heroes around me. Call the police by their first name or just run, corruption is a myth so be careful.