a greasy whirring pressure behind the eyes

the humming and the whirring clicking of those teeth. and they had eyes too
frantically, or moreso, because the self-described “bum” had a great shiningJackNicholson . creepy, steeping back, leaning back. still close. watching that one red eye/one white eye peering at me. such care with the brew. can’t go to breed hungry.

i have seen the arms of god flailing in the wind, or the sun, or something invisible that escapes my notice. and then he asked me if i wanted to kill some vietnamese. i said that i wasn’t into that kind of thing. he sighed. i wouldn’t buy him pabst either. who would’ve thought our mayor was a chinese communist mole?

still reeling from a bit of rejection… fuck that papertrail, donchaknow. the eyes have it. all the cheesecarriers are out on patrol. who? or what? has eeten all the choice cookies? why arent there any left? (oh pooh! pleny of cookies, you squaller!)

3 thoughts on “a greasy whirring pressure behind the eyes”

  1. “The choicest of cookies are those not yet baked, their dough still being worried over in the mind of the baker.”
    – Anciente, Clunkye Proverbe

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