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On a social networking site a person among many refers to themselves in the third person: 'Generic person: has her man in her arms'.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
The man in the equation updates his status also: 'Generic person: has his woman in his arms'.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
They both sat together in their living room, glowing with joy, laptops on laps. The man farted, eliciting expletive derision from the woman at the living artefact of her love. 'You filthy man. My mother was right about you', she said, quoting an expression that had became "part of her" after watching countless TV sitcoms.
He felt shame for insulting the artefact of his love with the flagrant involuntary expression of his body: "Food was bad". She tried to reconcile the difference in the image of her love and the love in front of her, but could not.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
The man was upset for some time as a consequence of his partner's perceptions. She saw him differently and he acted out his role in response, unconsciously farting whenever she was around. After some time she said to him 'You are not the same man I loved,' again quoting the sitcoms.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
He felt shame for being less than lovable. After the breakup he checked his ex's social networking page: 'Generic person: has her man in her arms'. He did not see the problem, and meandered off to the next artefact of his love.
A divided mind is easily conquered.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
The man in the equation updates his status also: 'Generic person: has his woman in his arms'.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
They both sat together in their living room, glowing with joy, laptops on laps. The man farted, eliciting expletive derision from the woman at the living artefact of her love. 'You filthy man. My mother was right about you', she said, quoting an expression that had became "part of her" after watching countless TV sitcoms.
He felt shame for insulting the artefact of his love with the flagrant involuntary expression of his body: "Food was bad". She tried to reconcile the difference in the image of her love and the love in front of her, but could not.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
The man was upset for some time as a consequence of his partner's perceptions. She saw him differently and he acted out his role in response, unconsciously farting whenever she was around. After some time she said to him 'You are not the same man I loved,' again quoting the sitcoms.
Never whistle while you're pissing.
He felt shame for being less than lovable. After the breakup he checked his ex's social networking page: 'Generic person: has her man in her arms'. He did not see the problem, and meandered off to the next artefact of his love.
A divided mind is easily conquered.
Literature
Newspaper Suit
I am a charlatan
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
the pushpins
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
of death.
Literature
The Waste World
She said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morp
Literature
Waiting
Waiting
Pale willow girls wait by the river, brides of the water,
Guppies swim through their veins, silver darts of bright pain.
Their names are hieroglyphs of mist, frost and rain.
They walk barefoot in the snow, leaving tracks so they know the way back,
A tracery of breadcrumbs that the ravens will never eat.
Twelve princesses slip underground,
Dance in slippers of tattered frayed silk,
Corkscrews of ribbon, stiff with blood and melted tallow.
They inject themselves with music until their eyes hum like bumble bees.
Then they sleepwalk through the day in a haze of yearning
For fierce wet stone beneath their frenzy of feet, of bon
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Full title: A Divided Mind is Easily Conquered.
I thought I would write something a little less serious for fun. This is inspired by the words of Robert Anton Wilson.
© 2011 Thomas Duke
I thought I would write something a little less serious for fun. This is inspired by the words of Robert Anton Wilson.
© 2011 Thomas Duke
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