hzoh2905
The first time he voted was over a referendum on whether to write an entirely new constitution, or to keep that haggard bitch of a document. He voted to dispose of her, but the people liked the old whore.
First there were only tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands, then millions, then billions, and that was when the planet started to creak.
But I don't want to.
And as I wait here for the 60 seconds to end, I see "be" and "gin".
I claim that you are a hairy bastard. Even though you are bald. As bald as Gandhi. And he wasn't a bastard. I claim that making claims is an old, old business.
Despite you backstabbing me, despite you chewing the gum that I'd brought for my nephew, despite killing my mother while she hid from my father, despite you singing "singing in the rain" when it wasn't raining ... despite all that ... actually, no, I don't love you. Not one teeny tiny bit, biatch.
Forever. Never. Like a quantum state. Miles apart, but entangled with "spooky actions at a distance".
Not alive. Not alive at all. Not one bit. Not half a breath. No beat. No cellular division. No signals in the brain. That's how not alive. As not alive as the dead donkey festering at he end of the road. As not alive as her great great grandmother.
The family. The mother had killed the baby boy. Her own. And then she renamed her daughter, who was six at the time of her brother's murder, and named her after him. Bob, she is now called. Bob.
Two cells, forever bound, unravel and then he comes. He leaps on the horse, binding hand to reins, binding thigh to saddle, mind to mind. He carries the flag and sinks his teeth into the horses neck, binding blood and tooth.
writing since 2012 · 11 entries · 11 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means hazem showed up.
5longest streak
11days written
3.3entries / week
the words hazem reaches for
alivedespitenorthbindingbitapartbeatbrainforevermindmotherbobgreatsingingclaimbastard