Friday, January 18, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

Some people believe that when you die you come back as something else. Maybe you come back and everything starts over again. Maybe you end up on some cosmic game show or you reread a novel you hate/love for eternity. Like Gatsby. Nothing but Gatsby. 

Maybe when you huff video head cleaner you see other universes. Maybe you burn synapses. Whatever you do, it's temporary. Just enjoy the sounds. Get on the ride. 

Maybe every time you jizz a baby dies. That would be fucked up, but it would ease some of our environmental issues. I didn't think that; you thought that. 

Maybe there's change in the couch cushions. Been a while since I checked - probably since the last time I was short on beer money. I don't harass the furniture anymore. 

Let me open a door. Bring a sweater; it's chilly.

There is a white carpet in the center of a dark, blood-red room. Strip club red. The carpet is smooth, ironed. In the center of the carpet there is a pool of dark liquid. You can't tell what color it is, and you're afraid to find out. The puddle holds lies and betrayals and disappointment. The puddle is filled with broken dolls and deflated balls, and you're fucking terrified. 

You tell yourself it's nothing, but you don't know. You try to think about something nice - a summer afternoon that you didn't fuck up by drinking. The first time you kissed someone and your teeth clicked and you laughed. You end up sitting in the corner, arms around your knees, muttering to yourself: they won't get inside if you don't let them. They won't let you inside if you don't get them. They'll never understand why you can't stand the sound of metal scraping. Your teeth ache. You become infantile. 

Smile.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...

Friday, January 11, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

I don't want to do it. You can't make me do it. 

Thirteen months in Houston? Man, you blew it. You stepped right when you should have stepped wrong and landed up in a logical fallacy. See? Imagine a room full of monkeys masturbating furiously, their furry hands ablur. That's the kind of beautiful shit you can actualize if you own a ton of monkeys! Word.

Who wants to buy a monkey?

I want a cheeseburger that reproduces. I want consistent bowel movements like sonatas in the hands of a master stick-waver. 

I am a few decks short of a skate shop, but I don't mind - you want some, then YOU cop. I'm gonna sit here straight drip-whispering. Until the darkness turns to shivering. Before the floodlights spill out over your picket-glazed irises. Big as tires, Sis.

You can shove the whole damn world in there. 


If my brain just subsists of snippets and widgets, does it matter that one robot lets one robot forget? Am I a slave to my lavish debt? All wet. I want to take a magic pill that makes me forget. 

So, I can unclench my jaw.

So, I can sleep.

So, I can dream. 

Or at least stop hearing the same thing over and over and over and...

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...

Friday, January 4, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

The moonlight lay in shards like a broken bottle; storms raged and people cried, and the moon laughed its ass off until the morning taxis bristled. The cold was there. You could take it or leave it. A man can drink that kind of cold away - toss it off like an old lady shawl. Goddamn, baby, come with me and you can have it all.

We'll have a brawl.

The night called out like a whipped dog, and the lights reflected puddles in the roadway - you gotta have the sense of it. The sense for it. Something. You gotta have something. Like tits on a frog. You don't need to know how I know what you need to know.

Just know.

You can say you didn't see nothing, but I'm guessing that's a lie. The broken songs through the grimy windows, five shots, you didn't hear nothing? Didn't see nothing? Never gonna be somebody.

You'll never amount.

The fucking screams, man. They were almost funny. Like uncomfortable funny - like when Jimmy the Dirtbag snapped his leg in half. Wasn't funny, but everybody laughing. That's what them screams did. Like they took the cap off the world and let out all the insanity.

Shut the fuck up!

Soon the squares will be waking up for work, and they don't want to start their day looking at your brains like bread pudding all over the wall. Quivering. Like jellied fish. The kind the old man ate. Fucking disgusting. The sun won't come up 'til I got this done.

I promise.

And the last thing you'll see? My fucking face, laughing - nervous laughing into the black curtain. The abyss, man. That's where you're going to end up, and I hope it's a fucking blast, brother. All I know is that bitch that lives by the liquor store is up. Making biscuits for her fucking Alzheimer's.

And she was your canary.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...