Face It

Stream of Consciousness Exercise

In eternity, where there is no time. Smash him. The treaty should delay us. For a time. He saw it as some sage-inspired truth. Crowds can’t leap. They used to. The shifting body. The object of crime. Funeral-attracted dreams. By the assassin I dispatch ambitious souls. The hero stumbles. As basic as air. Slaying this reliable groundhog. Fortunes from an egg. Undercut me. The country was receding. We were visitors. Came late at night. Drove all through the night. Came to the vicinity. This fluid capsule does not track an angry exercise (clouding), blinking cold snaps angling in on any air (if this had operated), facing it (just face it, hombre), turning to you (just can’t face it), third stomachs not keeping up with digestion (what a haul!); I just can’t fucking face it (losing it now), hardly performing, this open air act, this this, baby.

Unbounded wastes abound in the land of shit and come. I’d give up. I’d give up some of the lives I’ve lived. But they’re already gone. Let’s me know that. It’s alright.