Oi!
this is a personal site and does not reflect the opinion of the US government or peace corps!
amusing death
For a fleeting moment a wish of desire escaped the mind of
a person as he glanced across the room onto the visage of
his death. Death in his favorite shades of black and the
lovely rush of plummeting to ones doom from a shear rock
face. All for the price of admission. It was great. The
thrills were five times a second, the gratuity
invigoratingly irresponsible, and all so illicit, looking
death in its face. Thrills so shallow, so empty, so bloody
tiring. Eyes lowered is the only way to view its expression
and still enjoy it. This lemming report is a joke, why do I
want to view death, taste death, smell it in its all
encompassing stench. Death is an escape. Death is an
unknown. Is ignorance death? Stare into an unknowns dilated
pupils and you can see your ghostly reflection looking
right back at you. A pale wane figure riding on the back of
a black horse waving a gleaming scythe, coming with its
deadly harvest. Why is it I hypothesize on the impossible
and fear the unknown, except to deny what we see. I hate,
absolutely hate, the direction this whole thing is going.
Sensory images flare across the cornea burning themselves
into the skull, imprinting a silent brand, and it goes on
and on and on for two hours at least. Awful assumptions are
better than this tortuous path of democratic endorsement
and the perpetration of this crime. Shadows flit in the
corners of the room and the screams I hear are not only
coming from around me but inside me. Everything is up to my
interpretation of the given facts. An investigative report
by yours truly. The Energizer Bunny just took off
Garfield's head with a meat cleaver. What's up with that!?
Did I pay sweat, tears, and calories for this backlash
against popular culture? Papa Smurf just spontaneously
combusted. Ick. The room is covered in tiny blue flecks of
something now, and the crowd cleared out after Mickey Mouse
was found to be a Nazi. Death smiled and he felt extremely
soothed by something in those jagged, serrated, teeth. I'm
running on empty now, as if that was indeed possible or
even likely. The doors locked tight after the exit of the
majority of the patrons. The special pleasures were left
for those who remained slightly less than they ever should
have been. Now it started to get interesting as the screams
were silenced and peace descended upon me like some
Bavarian cream puff.. Delightful pastries of the soul
encrusted with asperatine frosting and fat-free indecencies
promised me eternal happiness. A palatable meal to any
stomach being disintegrated by its own roiling acid. Death
munched on a cyanide sweetroll and seemed happy enough. I
questioned the validity of it all. The right to substance
after that black wave of sensory overload. He laughed, and
said, and I quote "Enjoy it, it might be your last bight."
I laughed too, the irony of it shaking me like the tremors
of morte rictus. Living ones last on nothing, eating
nothing your body would remember even if it could. The
gravity of it beckoned me to the crypt and left death
really quite dead in my mind as I munched on the fatty
swarms of popped kernels and murdered indecency with my
eyes and gold.