you want a conglomeration of words, well the words are going to drive me fucking crazy. when i smear excrement on the screen and click post all that comes up is my hands smelling like shit. meet me in the fifth dimension or on some scribbles written by a hand time and society forgot placing it under the label homeless' begging device. look to the stars you fucking bum, because you're not welcome here anymore. not by electronic us anyway. i've been engineered to avoid scenarios leading to outcomes like this. excuse me, i must have forgotten to take my fish oil capsule today.
/now offering free interviews to clarify any confusion
/i've tried to write something
/it wasn't meant to be
commentary by the author: In this piece i choose to examine the nature of memory. one memory in particular. the memory of a man who made the street his home. he would tell me things like jesus will return from the sun to take all the vegetarians on his magic ride however, most vegetarians only think they're vegetarians. in the soil that their vegetables are grown in there are animal parts that enter the vegetable that then enter the human. i think about him from time to time because he was a very passionate man. he tried his best to help everyone understand but no one could understand the textbook definition of madness that spewed from his mouth. he would write pages upon pages of his philosophy to document the inner workings of his mind and make copies at kinkos to hand them out en masse. he smelled very bad and he looked like santa claus. many bums look like santa claus i suppose.
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