We’re
All
Aliens
Legal
Illegal
And
From
Outer
Space
👽
Category: writer
Untapped Pupil
Pupil
Steak knife
Tiny bubbles
Tiny ego
Daffodils
Do not
Cause
Answers
To
Pop out
From
Neglected
Abandoned
Brains
Do not run
Run not do
There’s an
Entire
World of
Information
At our
Fingertips
There’s a lot
Of unused
Untapped potential
Inside of
You
What Reality
What
Reality
Do
We
Live in
What
Truths
Have
We
Ignored
Is it too late to
Turn things around
Or is
Mankind
Doomed
To
Repeat
Repeat
Repeat
The same
F–kin’
Mistakes
???
Tastes Best
Peanut butter
Tastes
Best
During
The
Apocalypse
These Fables
Your decadence is fleeting
This purported paradigm
Is a major falsity
Surely you must see it!
Surely you must feel it!
Puppets all abound
Puppets you’ve all become!
At one point in time the whistle
Called you out
Only because you gave your heart over
To miniscule condiments
yet you still crave
Crave violent births
So do not be surprised when your entire world
Crashes, burns, fuses, annihiliates and mutilates these fables
We
We
All
Smell
Like
Vanity
Used
Life
Is like
Used
Toilet paper
You
Can’t
Reuse
It
Alive
We aren’t
Alive
We aren’t
Dead
We aren’t
Alive
We aren’t
Fed
We are
Fed
Up
Fed
Up
Cheese Whatnot
Cheese
Whatnot
Life
Terrible
Subconscious
Truth
Elate
No
Bagel
No
Bagel
Lick
The
End
Of
Sanity
Moscow Mule -Original Short Story
My mental clarity wavers often. I allude to nothing.
“Hey, Marty! You want another Moscow Mule?” Sloan asked me. Her cleavage shimmered under the light.
“No thanks. What I would like is a date with you, sweet thing.” I replied.
“Oh please!” You wouldn’t even know what to do with me, Marty!”
Sloan wiped clean the table next to mine. She winked at me while doing it. She always winked at customers.
“I’m pretty sure I can think of a couple things to do with you.” I chewed on a breadstick and pretended to be interested in the basketball game on T.V.
“You’re so nasty, Marty!”
Sloan smiled then walked back towards the bar.
Interesting thoughts invaded my consciousness. I tried to think of something else but found it difficult.
The memory of my pet turtle, Spartacus, flashed before me for some reason. I was eight years old when he ran away to join the circus.
He didn’t really join the circus. That’s just what I told myself to cheer myself up. Though, he was a pretty clever turtle.
“Hey, buddy!” You don’t wanna’ mess with Sloan. She’s a wild succubus.” An overweight bearded guy commented from the booth behind me.
“Oh really? I figured as much. I’m not looking for anything serious.” I replied then bit into a lime wedge.
A group of inebriated basketball fans cheered loudly at the sight of their team winning.
“Today’s your lucky day, Marty! My shift just ended. So, what do you say we go back to my place?” Sloan grabbed my hand and gently squeezed.
“If we must, we must.” I slapped her buttocks as we walked out into the parking lot.
My mental clarity wavered again. I then awoke from my alcohol induced fantasy. That was the last time I had a Moscow Mule.
Madman Rants 