These people would talk about anything

These people would talk about anything: what drugs he's doing, what party should they were at when she told him about the rape, anything.  Keep me distracted.  Keep me distracted.  Keep me distracted.

The air comes funneling out of the vent in my wall and it's too clean and new to be Lynchian like it should be.  Maybe in a couple years.

We ate the Wendy's and then hotboxed his car.  Dave threw up.  We ate a bunch of xannies.  Xavier and Thomas blacked out.

On the streets, at night, Bob stabs a woman, just 'cause.

This is not the the end.  Wait, I guess it is.

24 hour abortion of a short story

Pot and cigarettes breakfast with anarchists.  Oh, we talked.

"i’m writing a one day short story.  it might end up being one word long, it might end up being one sentence long.  who knows?  i’ll post it here at midnight." I posted on tumblr as Built to Spill spiraled from my turntable's speakers.  I know that you'll get yours when you get empty.  And then: It's so close.  At least, that's what it sounds like to my weed fogged ears.

A blur an image a smear.  A person?  A shadow.  This is all on tumblr.

No Recess.  About 15 minutes into this recording of a dead heroin addict.

Pennington and awful pain.  I try to smoke and sing my way through it.  Windmills of your mind.  Tumblr bombards me.  I'm officially DISTRACTED.  Thumbs up.

I'm bored.  I smoke tons of weed.  I'll pick up more later.  I drive to Wendy's.  I don't really remember much about this part because I was stoned but I know I ordered some kind of chicken sandwich, fries, and a Dr. Pepper.  It was around 5:00.  I guess an early dinner?  Who cares.  I eat at weird times anyway.

An alien invasion happened.  Things got abducted.  Things got destroyed.  The president's brain grew cancerous and developed a tumor.  Clinton was caught in the oval office masturbating with a golden eagle up her cunt.

At home I pretended I was masturbating to Xavier Dolan masturbating to Jake Gyllenhaal.  When I came I needed to get high again.

Drones over the suburbs.  It's scary to wake up.

Waiting for coffee to brew.  Cofee and half past 6.  It might be ready.  I'll go check.