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or, "My Lack of Thought Remembering"

Story of my life's story!, and is he still laughing in there?, like a chirp cheeping from a trash bin?  I'd like to spend some time with you this week, but it feels like my future time's twisted taffy-like; that mesmerizing machine.

Is this 'earthy'?  Sounds like a mushroom or crunchy or something(, or) real.  I wish it was earthly, then I could just gunk up the werks, make it all last a little longer, like the Sexy Olympics, like where we read each other's one letter-words and smile, like those those warm ass-in-lap, dick-up-ass momentos, where we are, as we say, very close.  "Time is ephemeral" as they say, and which we fully reject, since it entrappens one in that perpetual, grand-narrative state, away from the configuration manifold where Heideggerian It is happening, where we ek-sist, and be be-ing in the clearing of being, and all that rock-n-roll and blues and jazz, and etc etc et al.

Speaking of rhetorical, have I got a model for you!  Sexual complementarianism ain't never done us no good, and ain't I a woman, like Sojourner, too?  The enlightenment sure put us in the dark about a great deal of things.  Some day we will call it the Darkening Ages, because it put such bullshit in such stark relief, and I will try to be the one that makes sure that it happens.  But I still wish the pilgrims ate prime rib.

And on and on and on and on.

Yours in Goosebumpedness,

Terrorista

Are You Jokers On The Level?

One more Ultra!  No, make that two!  Predators pray to gods Lotka and Volterra before communing with a sucker crunch.  What are they going to do?  Fire you?

Me?  I'm just aiming to get his turgid on.  Get his priorities straight, like he ain't American.

He says he is "doing AWESOME" and that he just wants to spend this week fucking off and getting drunk.  He thinks that black girl is cool as shit, and he has hella good luck on LinkedIn.

Me?  I'm about to go talk about the black woman's lived experience while simulteneously acknowledging that I cannot.  I hope never to link up in that way, and I'd like to get drunk and fuck off, too.  But I have my doubts that he knows what the word 'awesome' means.

He says he walked the dogs, that he's friends with fags.  But he says homie don't play dat.  And he actually said dat.

Here ya go, Sweetheart, here's your tacos.  And the ONE TIME they don't give me napkins...

Plz construct faster, motherfuckers.  These bitches' purses are taking up too much space in the elevator!  He said, "this is madness!"  She asked, "Are you OK back there?"  I thought carefully before I answered, but after some seconds, I admitted that I am doing awesome.

I'll breeze in with these three minutes to spare.  It's a die cot, Timmy and don't you ever forget to remember that thing, all those things, you said you vowed to black out all those many times several years past.  And I'll close ranks 'round you.

I Need to Be Subjugated by the Patriarchy

or, "Haaaaayyy when'd you get pants?"

Marxist bullshit blah blah blah, not all of it, though, just the bullshit parts, thinks the bourgeois in me, about the proletariat in you.

I just want some quiet time with you
spent in peaceable violence
I not care where
hair all over the place
makes a not-gentle rein

Is that my stomach or yours, the twin groanings roar, but hiss out like too-wet logs do in resuscitated fireplaces under the heft of silent slick sounds, of spots being hit right, of surface tension smacks, the seashell resonance, the fractal geometry, fibonacci on the main, that I will take to my grave.

Now I go to bed.