Monday, June 29, 2015

recanting "my asshole burns", a short story i still haven't finished because it's not a poem.

penguin with a cunt
keep up with a reputation. reputations are everything. don't chang
e the channel if you want to watch the show about the reputation.
don't kill your dog, have a reputation. william shakespeare has o
ne son of a fuck of a reputation. just soak your reputation and pr
esto. the name of my stalker is reputation. i'm a reputationphob
ic. i'm currently studying the works of reputation. my favorite c
olor is reputation. i know stuff about tibetan reputation. let's hit
the clubs and maintain reputations. i drink eight cups of black re
putation a day. it helps me get through the painful reputation. if
you're not keeping up with the reputations- honey, you are not
well. have a reputation. defeat the reputation in order to level u
p to the next reputation. honey it's up to you to build yourself a
reputation. go to ikea and get a reputation for cheaper than other
reputations on the market. it is deceiving but it looks just as sle
ek. spill some change and african voodoo on the reputation. clip
the fingernails of the one you love- the bitch move. marry them.
pacify. shit on the reputation. due to this, change reputations in
to ice. tap implanted fingernails on stovetop twice turn world in
to ice. my favorite band is reputation bizkit. i felt sad when my
reputation died.

penguin with a cunt
penguin with a cunt
look at you aren't you a sweet little nothing. i totally see "x" factor
prowess in your cheeky white girl ass. they tore britney spears fro
m mississippi but that is not where i am. they will keep me in the
bubble suffocating forever with panic disorder.

puh puh puh puh puh
ppppare nothing. create a reputation. if it weren't
ppppwe wouldn't
ppppgrab attention. flop about

eh eh eh eh en guin with a cunt eh eh eh he he hehe

penguin with a cunt one
penguin with a cunt two
penguin with a cunt one
penguin with a cunt two

parties are stupid but dancing is cool. you are loved. this one time
i wanted to die. this one time i wanted to live. i am tired of throw
ing all the contents of my underwear drawer out looking for any
underwear that isn't period underwear in an angry fit. how did all
my grandmother's slips get in here? that's quite *ephemeral*. beh
old my childlike idealism- my favorite novel IS
THE LITTLE PRINCE. the love of my life is the little prince.
the most romantic moment of my life was when he sped off repu
tation highway after i screamed in pain from the worst shit-cramp
of my life, even though i screwed up the gps system because i do
n't know where i live by now. he had a very serious face and sped
down some really long road in a residential neighborhood. i thou
ght at first perhaps he was scared i was going to shit myself in hi
s jeep, but than he pulled over next to a runner girl and told me to
ask her where the nearest bathroom is. (really?)
i asked her where the nearest stores were.
she told me at the end of the road is a king kullen.
the road was approximately five hundred more miles. the face of
my true love grew more tightly with seriousness. he pulled in fro
nt of the king kullen.
just drop me off here! just drop me off! i frantically told him to do.
i went in hyperconscious of my butt, terrified that i looked like i
really had to poop and everyone was staring at me like that was tot
ally happening, but they would stare at me anyway- in my experien
ces with lifelong social phobia, they do- especially when you put
your "guard" down. (a lesson in survival: just like don't get to a
point where you wind up doing that. you'll fuck up and freak out.)
so i put my swagger on, unclenched my asscheeks, and did not
shit everywhere.
the bathrooms were in the employees only lounge. it was labyrinthine,
to say the least- and i didn't know i wasn't allowed to be in there, beca
use this dude with tots magoats body modz directed me there. i opene
d one door on a guys face which i did not look at because i just really
wanted to shit. he said, "this is weird!" i had nothing to say, so i ign
ored him and headed past the conference table to the ladies room.
one thing i hate about supermarket bathrooms is the stalls never have
toilet paper. after i shat, i heard the little prince calling "peach! peach!"
from the weird labyrinth in which david bowie was not.
"yeah?" said i.
"okay!"
after i wondered if i was going to get raped by the guy who told me
where the bathrooms were, switched stalls, wiped, washed my hand
s, dried them and le ft, i found the little prince waiting for me.
"wow, that was nice of you." it occurred to me soon after an employ
ee must've told him where the bathrooms in which i now presumed
we weren't allowed to be in were. he's really chivalrous like that.
"a kid with snakebites and sleeves was waiting for you too, at
the conference table."
"what the fuck? that's the guy that told me where the bathrooms
were."
it was weird, because that was the person i had imagined i was
doomed to be raped by. you know, stuff like that really gets me
hoping that we're really *not* all psychic.
i thought i'd check out if he had rapist eyes or not by finding him
in the aisles. i did.
"pssssst!" i whispered, blowing flower petals nowhere. his eyes
were not rapey in the least. "thanks!"
he nodded. or whatever. i don't remember much else except that
his eyes weren't rapey, and that it isn't fair that king kullen let
*him* expose his body mods, but my old job in customer servi
ce wouldn't let me expose my unshaved armpits, let alone my
punk rock reputation. *or* snakebite piercings.

outside were dyed lilies. i sniffed one. "it's, it's beautiful!"
when we reached the dream jeep, the little prince laughed
at me and told me to study my reflection. i didn't know w
hat i was looking for.
"look closer!"
a smear of what i believed was either a nose bleed or poop
was under my nose and on my upper lip. since i've never
had a nose bleed, i compulsively sniffed my upper lip over
and over, terrified of the possibility that it was poop, even
though after the first sniff it was clear this was *not* poop.
"it was the flower. it was THE FLOWER."
this didn't make any sense to me, and i was pretty sure the
prince was just trying to make me feel better about having
somehow gotten poop on my philtrum-y area. i didn't kno
w what in the world it was, and just decided to drop it af
ter i wiped it off. later my mother would tell me the flow
er was dyed.
we sped down the service road in the direction the gps
told us to. the prince was very serious so i mostly gave
him space. a while ago this jiminey douchenugget used
to beat me. ever since, without discrimination, i've bee
n very afraid that guys are going to beat me for being a
pain in their asses. the little prince *did not beat me*. it
was magical.
the next day i texted him, thanking him for granting me
the most romantic half hour of my life. and that i "love
him as a friend". (i love him as a prince).