This is what I've been doing. Oh we in here.
Chapter 1
He barks now. In the middle of the night. I don’t know, or better yet, I can’t remember if this has happened since I’ve been home. It has been 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Right now I am counting from a day I don’t quite know. Guessing the number of days but not actually figuring it out. Now I must go: Wednesday, Thursday, Friday… I am back on track. It has been almost a week. Technically a week as today is Wednesday morning. It is 2:34, am, and I began writing this 3 minutes ago. He has stopped since then so I can say that I have lost that awe-inspiring inspiration, yet this is something I have been meaning to do every summer. Only once have I actually done something I planned to do in the summer with regards to writing. I never finished. It was a screenplay titled “Adolescent Preoccupation.” That should sum up everything. Pretentious synopsis and long story short as my endeavor, I stopped due to a blown laptop light. I had 16 pages of dialogue.
Chapter 2
It is 8:20 am. I am tired as fuck. Yes, this is not the same day. Here the actual writing begins. The day of my graduation I woke up on my couch. The couch. The Hazelwood couch of filth, Franken scents, and mur. I have seen awkward lap dances given on that couch. Ha, I have seen a lap dance-off between this couch and the other couch. The other couch. I have found a condom wrapper in that couch. A condom wrapper left over from two friends. Two friends of mine that met that night. That night. Two friends of mine that met that night and fucked on my couch. Not really mine but the Hazelwood other couch. But back to the couch where Satan’s midwife got her first paycheck. Yes, this couch is what I say it is. The walls can’t talk because they have their mouths duct taped with red rubber balls inserted before sealing the deal. Those red balls have remnants of flour. Flour that is both fresh off the boat of the bag and flour that has been processed and conceived in bake goods. And because of all this the couches speak for themselves. They speak volumes.
The couch of Monte Cristo has housed friends. Friends named Trial and Tribulation. It has also housed a friend who made out with a girl I eventually started to fuck. Yes, the couch is what I it is. Like that; I brought it back. I woke up on this couch and realized that with disgust and Taco Truck at my feet. I am graduating college today and I start off the start of my life on the couch that leads to bastard children orphaned and lodged in cribs of gastric acid and latex highchairs. Even my sex is full of poetic allusions. Yet, this couch is my crutch this morning and this morning I graduate.
My little sister is in the bathroom for a little longer than I would like but this gives me time to lie in the pasture a little longer than I would like. That’s alright with me because what’s done is done. I have already slept here and have woken up to realize the mistake. Surprise cannot happen twice, that is a sin from Alzheimer’s Box. As I lie, I remember again that I am graduating; there is Taco Truck at feet for the second time in a time too short for this to not be a problem. Also it’s 8:20 a.m. and I did not go to sleep too long ago. I feel kind of bad but it will get worse.
9.8.09
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