Greetings! {this is the only only time i will use this salutation, so, hello. and if you generally disagree with the word, ‘vast’, continue reading}

today’s top google search: myles brand.  you may find this information at
we love sports
followed by entertainment
followed by pretty real life ivy league murder mysteries
this is a’merica
where sense of humor is more derived of insults than most

if you visit wikianswers and pose “what is a good idea for a fictional essay?”, you’ll find two things. one—someone already has; two—no one has answered.  this is all true.  lying is a bore and wastes valuable mature, teenage kim kardashian sex-tape-time with lucy pinder, rosie jones, vicki blows, and miley cyrus {aka, hannah fucking montana}.  thought this may give the site a little more google-boost.  a bit more thrust.  so while we’re at it…Anyone catch that leaked, behind-the-scenes video of a pregnant-looking megan fox riding that donkey into an inter-racial Bethlehem while shooting the new messiah birth movie?  ya, me neither, butt i hard she put on a couple pounds, and along with the heavy, leather straps on the ass underneath her, the animal was burdened with quite the massive load.  so don’t lie.  it’s boring.

“i’d like to write a beautiful story about love”

Heavy boots kick snow trailing a note under the door.  I did all the things that lead to unfolding it.  The boots remained.  I didn’t look at the lock, just the floor, keeping time in tarmacadam.
“‘I’ll tell you what’s true as I stand before you. There’s three things to believe in: Believe in yourself. Believe in what’s better than yourself. Believe in the one you love.'”

That’s what the goddamn note read.  I burned it.

His father had failed to make the age old mistake of turning him into the man he’d never been.  His mother was just enough to turn him into the man she never got.  He would be no Saint Exupery.  He chose his luck wisely, carefully, never ploddingly, attempting the impossible balance between lust and the perfect brain to make ‘forever’ its equal.  His efforts proved as fruitless and naive as every author’s former line.  He told himself he’d grown tired.  Said he was done, to everyone else.  Lied that she didn’t exist.  She did.  No guess.  No delight.  No sentiment.  He knew.

This was not false belief predicated upon a desire, making it fact as opposed to it being one.  She was breathing.  They waited while they lived.  She knew too.  They had loved others.  She was real and would come to find him beyond his created point, first-time terrified.  He’d find her feeling likened to, and consequently seeing herself as, Dolly’s bargain store.  Dolly was now happy, ancient, constantly hit with lights, aided by tech, and sexful.  The store’d been passed on to others via song and was now, la-di-da, a healthy chain.  Heads of the hydra, ya lop one ya got ten more.  With the age of war-babies, meds, and klosterman’s false love they we’re growing out of control.

However, from his first mouthed ‘wow,’ she’d never feel it again.  She’d calm him like whatever it is that makes us settle.  Jaws drop, ears dog, lids tighten open wide, heads cock, chins point, blink, move, look, drive, house, door, light lock lightoutkissarmsclothes.  Hellos.

Hell still burns; heaven’s been switched.  Anything near them changes and knows it.  They fight for fun.  Nothing is ever disgusting.  No ‘If only you knew me when’s; no attempt to plant each other in each others’ pasts.  Nothing is sacrificed, though many are lost.  Some regretfully so.

One’s body dies.  The other molts.

Is that what you want?  What you really want?  You must upset each other accidentally, and deeply, at least once.  You have to feel that star-matter sucker punch pit you didn’t realize you’d swallowed empty yer guts and live there for days.

Another letter.  This one through the slot.  This one from J.W.  She and boots take a walk.  It’s a list and reads as follows:

“1. Love is just a trick the brain plays to get us to cooperate for long enough to raise the next generation.
2. Love is a trick we play on each other to get safety/security/social standing/lots of presents.
3. Love is a trick we play on sex – we want sex so we settle for love.
4. Sex is a trick we play on love – we want love so we settle for sex.
5. Love is a trick I play on myself.  Believing I might find it is like looking for life on another planet – something to do when it gets dark.”

I burn it again. It’ll be back.  Ashened vellum and breaking soot-brick sprinting with itself hot-through, and away from itself cold-out, of chutes is the only thing makes the Fall smell better than itself.  They’ll turn into somethin new, in that door’ll kick, out’ll go that match.

“…sentiment is an echo of violence.”
-Joseph Campbell

{next week will be 365 words, as this is 835}

2 responses to “NEMAWASHI

  1. awes.

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