They buried you in the cold ground and then they placed a large monument, in your name, on top of the dirt above your head; nobody came to see it because everyone in your family was already dead. There’s a sort of macabre sense of curiosity that fills me with those questionable questions that you don’t usually ask aloud. Questions, like: what did the bugs eat first? Surely one does not ask that in polite company; even if the curiosity is piqued.
The fuck do I know about grit? When was the last time someone living in the stinking suburban wasteland of America had to have courage? It is a dark road ahead for us all, though; and, to paraphrase yet another piece of popular media because originality: this country is dark and full of terrors.
The amount of time you spend forming an argument or perfecting a thought will always be overshadowed by the amount of time available to everyone else to the ends of picking apart your well thought out processes and forming an argument against you. This is not to discourage you; forming opinions is vital to our species. Just prepare yourself for the inevitability that somebody, somewhere, at any point in time, for whatever reason, may have a disagreement with you.
Eighteen. No – maybe Nineteen. Intoxicated, naked, and horny. Stumbling in the cold night air as my parts flapped like bird wings attached to soft meat. Laughter filled the air, and our bellies. High on both drink and pills. I never want this night to end.
It’s Midnight. Whatever. The house is still, there are noises in the night that I can not define, and my wife snores in the bedroom like she’s being payed overtime.