Tuesday, September 18, 2012
4 minutes. Go.
Bring it. This is my four minute blast of useless letters into the atmosphere. Inside, live amoebas and mysteries and stories told hundreds of years before my time. My chafing brain searches and finds knobs of thought wrought from the folds of my subconscious. Fingers, move faster. You're fucking the whole game up. I never believed there was a monster in my closet. I did believe in monsters. I lived inside TV show sitcoms rules that rubbed me the wrong way, so I rubbed my brain the right way until it was all shiny. Not shiny, scuffed up...ready for a fresh new varnish. And I'll tell you one thing straight shooter, the clock is ticking and you can take four minutes just as much as I can. And I don't give a damn about gargoyle face cracks looking from the corner. You may be afraid, but I am brave in the face of adversity, weak in my apathy. I took a look and we got two minutes to rumble. Do you want a sip of ice water. I would. Someone spray me in the face with Gatorade. I'll dope up and mum up and you can have my medals for soldering. And you can mock me with your garters on. You can't get a rise out of me the way you're trying. And it makes you look foolish. This isn't about one person in particular. It is about everyone except me. Sorry, that sounds like a dick call, but I gotta be honest about it. Prove me wrong. Find your stopwatch.