innards
"You have got to decide which crew you're siding with, brother."
"Yes, our fellow. Decide now, for the time has come. Us or them."
"Them, or us?"
He surrenders his weapon to the ground beneath him. For the sake of unity, he tells himself; 'I'm doing this for the sake of unity. "I'm with neither. I'm on the side of unity. We can all come together. Brethrens we can all be. United."
So both crews screwed him instead. Blood spewed from him instead. Rejection wasn't taken lightly from any one of them.
They didn't realise it, but he had got what he wanted. His body was his weapon. He had surrendered his weapon to the ground. For the sake of unity.
She wanted wood. Good wood. She wanted it big. She wanted one that would last a long time; that she would be satisfied with for as long as they lived in that house for richer and poorer and for better and even better until death or a last big breath did them part.
What she wanted wasn't a doorknob.
"Oh, God. What if I can't find a blue pen when I'm in high school? Or I lose it? Or it breaks or runs out of ink?"
"Then," he says, grimacing, knowing the goody-two-shoes geek I am, "you get a detention. It's STRICTLY only blue pens allowed in high school."
"What? I can't get a detention. I can't handle a detention. I don't want a detention. I'm hyperventilating. I can't do this high school lark. Don't make me go. Please."
Since that day to this very day, I haven't been able to use a blue pen.
I need an escape.
Here to Portsmouth. By railroad: trains, not planes or automobiles.
Megatrain. Virgin Trains Best Fare Finder. TheTrainLine Best Fare Finder. MoneySavingExpert.com forum. Ticket splitting. iPhone apps. Tickety Split. Bargains. Clasped. Grabbed. Booked.
All for the 8-ball to then tell me the outlook of me making my solo excursion is "not so good".
Tarantism: the urge to overcome melancholic emotion through motion. Dancing motion. There's no worthy emotion without motion, you tell yourself. A motionless life leaves you apathetic.
Do something. Do someone. Go somewhere.
Use your hips.
Do something; walk. Do someone; thrust. Go somewhere; run.
You're going places in life. It's what you tell yourself. It's what gets you through one more night.
Just.
I am the configuration of my mother and, to a lesser extent, my father.
You are the configuration of your mother and your father and their mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and the lady who lives across the road from you and the people who live in another part of your area who may see you and judge you for stepping out of the house once a month for some oxygen
This culture; it's driving me insane.
What will be the configuration of your kids?
You - get her body dressed; dress it right nice. Sickening that we respect the dead more than the living, ain't it?
You - get the ushers up to date with their schedules and their positions. No, keep your clothes off, bitch.
You - rearrange that shelf; put the flowers at eye level. These lazy fuckers are too busy to raise their gaze.
You - start on desserts; you - start on the mains; you can both work on starters closer to the time. Aprons off. Don't let those fine tits go to waste.
What's that, girl? What will I do? What will I do?! I'll do my job. I'm the distributor. I distribute the tasks. But you, you are not paid to think. You are paid to do. You will do what I say. You - shoot yourself. Shoot yourself. All right, I'll show you what else I do; how I excel above and beyond in my role. Boom. There's always got to be one. You - get her body dressed; dress it right nice. Sickening that we respect the dead more than the living, ain't it?
Canned soups - check; cartonned soups - check; tinned soups - check. The monotony of this is becoming too much to bear.
Heat soups - check; dish soups - check; serve soups - check. The monotony of this is becoming too much to bear.
Eat soups, drink soups, binge soups - wretch. The monotony of this is becoming too much to bear.
The monotony of THIS is becoming too much to bear.