page 39

as you sit upon your throne Hugo put his dick back into his pants and stopped talking to himself the car spinning down the highway out of control Hugo has a resplendent smile upon his face it is like he is frozen in time dear reader can you understand me it used to badass now it looks like some dipshit fucked it up and back on the medication again causing my hair to fall out in big fucking clumps I don’t care I will buy a wig or a big fucking hat she threw me a handful of drugs and said happy holidays trying to stay away from people who are bad for me all those psycho bitches I’m trying to understand it was irregular an outright punch she ached for two or three days she gave me back my clothes and that was nice going off to hit someone else not dealing with it again I am awesome and you guys suck I am fucking awesome beside that everything is peachy doing just fucking dandy chilling with old friends the roof is on fire can you lend me a bucket of water burning all those motherfuckers this is about my own experience my own life that is messed up she drank all my alcohol and she got upset everybody got upset and she felt so guilty too fucking afraid to get on board and she purged like an emo fucker all the wine she drank and the bits of the cat woman she doesn’t know what is going on around her it is all fucking kicking in half a fucking donut and some gravy train biscuits she will get over it and back to normal eventually to quit feeling this way dear children it is not fucking good I have a black eye and bruises all over beating the fuck out of myself last night beware of the shadow she is trying her best she has her flaws abusing herself this is better than real life it is so easy to make friends her mom is exercising upstairs her nympho mother eating crackers and applesauce my favorite fuck buddy she wants me to fuck her standing up while she flaps her wings and clucks like a chicken she is reading to me the broom of the system she thinks of herself as another Lenore Beadsman words are her reality I am building a forest in her backyard panting maples and evergreens the trees help her hide from god I’m still wearing my Christmas shoes we were living in sin among the Algonquin Indians I am traveling with my shotgun there is no flesh and blood there it is just a screen a two dimensional object I never encouraged the dimensionally challenged actually touching each other in the three dimensional world sexual desires one day she blurted it out that I was selfish I couldn’t relinquish the reins I wanted to control the wagon directing the horses she just wanted someone to sleep on the couch someone to be in the next room she was sincere with her razor blades it was heartbreaking as she milked the disappointment and the technology for communicating the problem was that we weren’t communicating it was only a monologue one person speaks and the other one listens there is never a conversation only a one-side monologue it is not going to happen I can remember my girlfriend a vague picture of her face pops up but I can’t think of her name I remember she was a dance instructor she would lay in bed eating cheetahs I wonder where she keeps her tail eating all the cashews eight ounces a state of the art killing machine smart and mean talking to a good mean person a real story stomping them to death on stage as the people clapped and no one voted the government agent has stopped all transmitions they don’t believe in the words and the