She was at the torture chamber, or, The Office, acting as the boss, of course. She looked down at the foot traffic twenty floors high. She was on top of it all, and just because of a perfectly symmetrical face. What a bitch! She stood up from her leather chair. She arched her back. It was perfection, her symmetry, with just an exaggeration painted on her cheeks. Of course this, and only this, is what I’m speaking of. I always try for a little finesse and would never say, “Her tits too!” So …
She gracefully walked to her office door, and stopped. She found the perfect angle to hold her face, right there. Her employees saw her movements, they always did. Every single step was written in some leger, somewhere. So they tried, they had to focus. They had to be at their best, or perhaps death embarrassment would befall them all.
These so-called strolls always excited her. Every hour on the hour, she did this. As she moved, it was complete horror. Soon, that office had people believing they were in a well-oiled …hell!
The people, her employees, couldn’t take a moment to wipe their brow. They were terrified. She was doing her thing. Then it went faster …it sounded like earthquake p-waves, or the noise before the shaking …because …
As she leaned against her office door she lit a smoke right below the No Smoking Sign! Just this ---set the fear at an absolute maximum level. She’s reckless, everybody thought. I hate to repeat, but, all because of cute cheeks?
Then of course, it got really hot in her hell-box. Her employees were all men. They all had either ‘had’ her or had dreams of saying they had ‘had’ her: Crude! Horrible atrocities were fantasized. That alone should have brought A Death Sentence! She laughed at that thought and ran her hands down her curves. After all, she interviewed everybody personally.
But, to her satisfaction, barely, they were climbing the ‘ladder’ like rats chasing their tails on treadmills. The others fell off and died. But she just punctuated her cheeks and laughed as they fell.
But just like her business, always with a smile, so kind; she was into embezzlement banking ---for the most part. The vulnerable of course, she liked most of all. She even wrote a best-selling book, “How to fuk people so easily when you’re a witch!” It was a big hit, huge. She was somehow able to blur the genders and men loved her book too. It was perfect, she was perfect.
She drifted off, just slightly, as she heard the blur of computers clicking away. She pulled herself off her office door. She quickly turned back to her desk ---her mirror was probably over there. She kicked her feet up on her desk, took her earring out and finally the phone call came in loud and strong,
“Yes, of course, I want him to suffer ---horribly. I’d like you to gently thrust it all the way through. You are capable of a little finesse, no?”
“Your husband will feel everything.”
“Perfect.”
The End
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
A Desperate Plea
We must be careful you and me. Yes …I’m sure you agree, “Very careful,” you probably say too. Me as a writer and you as a psychologist; can we continue on the path together? Even if the path is getting treacherous ---of course it’s terrifying, sometimes, but after a while, we’ll be somewhere else. Don’t you agree? We’ll have made it, “don’t you think?”
You have to see how the path meanders in our lush green surroundings. “It’s beautiful!” But yes, sometimes the path seemingly looks like an illusion? ---hitting and missing, but usually only for a moment, not, “Get Out!” like you might say. That dead-end you see can simply be called a bridge instead.
“But what is the bridge to us, to connect or separate?” you might say. You might willingly leap across the bridge to keep the distance between the two of us.
But: “Below the bridge is a creek where the rocks are mossy and slippery; sharp and dangerous. It’s very dangerous,” I say, so desperate, just wanting to go back ---back to those nights where our moist breath on each other’s neck removed the past and also the future, as we lived … Now!
“We could fall on those mossy rocks below or a fate perhaps worse,” I continue, “We’ll slip and take two maybe three steps back, or you’ll look at your life without us."
We’ve walked quite a distance without an impasse, until, and it is only this hand-bridge with a few slippery obstacles that are now in front of us. We can’t take a step backwards, not now, please, not ever! I’m scared.”
“But …Aren’t creeks like this one that rejuvenate us formed by mad storms?” You say. “But isn’t that the contradiction in every system.” I say, and, “Look at that beauty as the creek repeats its beauty constantly.”
“But if we do, we must cross the bridge, past the slippery rocks below ---together." “No,” you say, and also, “look at those jagged rocks just underneath the surface waiting for a slip. That’s terrifying!
“Yes,” I say, “like me, they’re desperate; I saw the desperation immediately after I heard it. But …they’re just scared. Can’t you see that they’re trying to stick their heads out of the creek for a breath of air?” I try to explain. “We must also inhale deeply …decisions should come slowly.”
But, you might say, “The path is one skip and a hop away …from the stifling love I forced on you?” “But it always takes two,” I say. So the Writer cried not after the skip but after the hop across the mossy rocks and the hand-bridge ---as he realized he landed on the other side without her.
And while on the other side the writer could hear her ask, “What does the future around that corner look like for you?” And quickly he said, “It doesn’t look very bright, not without you. So ...nightly, I’ll scream at the silvery moon, “I love you.” And I’ll hear a dreamy return, “I love you too,” somewhere, as we continue on the path …together?
The End
You have to see how the path meanders in our lush green surroundings. “It’s beautiful!” But yes, sometimes the path seemingly looks like an illusion? ---hitting and missing, but usually only for a moment, not, “Get Out!” like you might say. That dead-end you see can simply be called a bridge instead.
“But what is the bridge to us, to connect or separate?” you might say. You might willingly leap across the bridge to keep the distance between the two of us.
But: “Below the bridge is a creek where the rocks are mossy and slippery; sharp and dangerous. It’s very dangerous,” I say, so desperate, just wanting to go back ---back to those nights where our moist breath on each other’s neck removed the past and also the future, as we lived … Now!
“We could fall on those mossy rocks below or a fate perhaps worse,” I continue, “We’ll slip and take two maybe three steps back, or you’ll look at your life without us."
We’ve walked quite a distance without an impasse, until, and it is only this hand-bridge with a few slippery obstacles that are now in front of us. We can’t take a step backwards, not now, please, not ever! I’m scared.”
“But …Aren’t creeks like this one that rejuvenate us formed by mad storms?” You say. “But isn’t that the contradiction in every system.” I say, and, “Look at that beauty as the creek repeats its beauty constantly.”
“But if we do, we must cross the bridge, past the slippery rocks below ---together." “No,” you say, and also, “look at those jagged rocks just underneath the surface waiting for a slip. That’s terrifying!
“Yes,” I say, “like me, they’re desperate; I saw the desperation immediately after I heard it. But …they’re just scared. Can’t you see that they’re trying to stick their heads out of the creek for a breath of air?” I try to explain. “We must also inhale deeply …decisions should come slowly.”
But, you might say, “The path is one skip and a hop away …from the stifling love I forced on you?” “But it always takes two,” I say. So the Writer cried not after the skip but after the hop across the mossy rocks and the hand-bridge ---as he realized he landed on the other side without her.
And while on the other side the writer could hear her ask, “What does the future around that corner look like for you?” And quickly he said, “It doesn’t look very bright, not without you. So ...nightly, I’ll scream at the silvery moon, “I love you.” And I’ll hear a dreamy return, “I love you too,” somewhere, as we continue on the path …together?
The End
Monday, November 1, 2010
TEA and Harmony
It had been a very difficult morning: The rudimentary knowledge of where waste flows, anatomically, made it necessary for the woman to take four more showers. She couldn’t seem to separate where the pipes went, or …gently now, she’s ‘one who needs a little help’.
So, angrily, she poured a splash of pine-sol diluted with some water, and plunged her mop in her bucket. While ankle-deep in her own waste, which she could only blame on her own ignorance, she thought out-loud, “I really should be a senator. I love TEA, just love it.”
And, this is where it gets really interesting, all of the aforementioned events happened in a place, a state, where a bright-eyed young woman, sort of like the woman described above, has a chance at a senatorial seat, but we hope, for obvious reasons, not this woman ---especially.
But at second thought ---this particular woman is a bright-eyed young woman, and also, considering …absolutely everything else, she just might have a chance at a senatorial seat ---but only when she is using!-The Devils Herb!
She seeped her tea, standing over the hot flames, waiting. She was hurting. She needed her ‘tea!-and was so excited at the prospect of ‘tea-ing to excess’ this evening with her friends, she practiced the effects of the devil herb, while looking at her SCREAM in her mirror.
Quickly though her throat was sore. She looked at her Mayan calendar and wondered, ‘Will my ‘tea’ party buddies arrive before the world is destroyed’?”
She was having a ‘so-called’ ‘tea party’ this evening. The party was for the extremely exceptional, she thought. Considering everything, they all had their chance at a senatorial seat, theoretically.
As the other user’s started showing, it was difficult for our hostess to control her excitement. First it was Christine who brought over her sweet apple pie laced with her ‘choice of poison’. And then sweet Nancy and her trusty Crack-pipe, and then O’Donnell who was always ‘Packing’, and ‘Greg without balls’, started “TEA-ING' ---and with one swift slice, since joining, had his testicles removed ---“to make a life-change for abstinence!"
Her ‘TEA Party’ buddies sat in a circle. Her friend that brought over the delicious apple pie wrapped the tea-kettle in a proper-looking towel. The hostess grabbed the ‘tea-kettle’ and splashed some of the contents of her ‘make-up’ case into the kettle. And passed it on,
The others did the same,
But soon, the one who brought over the delicious apple pies, looked over at the hostess, “this tea isn’t doing crap,” she loaded her Crack-Pipe. “Do you know how much energy it takes to run a senatorial bid? I don’t think TEA is going to cut it.”
I wrote this because I care
Editor and Chief
The End
So, angrily, she poured a splash of pine-sol diluted with some water, and plunged her mop in her bucket. While ankle-deep in her own waste, which she could only blame on her own ignorance, she thought out-loud, “I really should be a senator. I love TEA, just love it.”
And, this is where it gets really interesting, all of the aforementioned events happened in a place, a state, where a bright-eyed young woman, sort of like the woman described above, has a chance at a senatorial seat, but we hope, for obvious reasons, not this woman ---especially.
But at second thought ---this particular woman is a bright-eyed young woman, and also, considering …absolutely everything else, she just might have a chance at a senatorial seat ---but only when she is using!-The Devils Herb!
She seeped her tea, standing over the hot flames, waiting. She was hurting. She needed her ‘tea!-and was so excited at the prospect of ‘tea-ing to excess’ this evening with her friends, she practiced the effects of the devil herb, while looking at her SCREAM in her mirror.
Quickly though her throat was sore. She looked at her Mayan calendar and wondered, ‘Will my ‘tea’ party buddies arrive before the world is destroyed’?”
She was having a ‘so-called’ ‘tea party’ this evening. The party was for the extremely exceptional, she thought. Considering everything, they all had their chance at a senatorial seat, theoretically.
As the other user’s started showing, it was difficult for our hostess to control her excitement. First it was Christine who brought over her sweet apple pie laced with her ‘choice of poison’. And then sweet Nancy and her trusty Crack-pipe, and then O’Donnell who was always ‘Packing’, and ‘Greg without balls’, started “TEA-ING' ---and with one swift slice, since joining, had his testicles removed ---“to make a life-change for abstinence!"
Her ‘TEA Party’ buddies sat in a circle. Her friend that brought over the delicious apple pie wrapped the tea-kettle in a proper-looking towel. The hostess grabbed the ‘tea-kettle’ and splashed some of the contents of her ‘make-up’ case into the kettle. And passed it on,
The others did the same,
But soon, the one who brought over the delicious apple pies, looked over at the hostess, “this tea isn’t doing crap,” she loaded her Crack-Pipe. “Do you know how much energy it takes to run a senatorial bid? I don’t think TEA is going to cut it.”
I wrote this because I care
Editor and Chief
The End
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