Unsanitary Lake

I fear the world is becoming more unsanitary. Yes. Unsanitary. Yes, I fear it just might be, and I don't say that carelessly. For example, just this very morn I was out for a stroll around the lake, and as the sun was rising and bathing the waking world in orange light, I saw a man masturbating in the brush by the waters edge. I assume he reached completion because he let out a long heavy sigh and shuddered, and then, without washing his hands or using any kind of sanitizer, took a baguette from his tote and began to eat it! I was positively horrified!

Incorporeal Predator

"Thoughts became the new battleground. To control the width and breadth of thoughts was the new military and political agenda. Preferences and likes became monopolised. Certain states jailed the victims and set the perpetrators free. Women were crushed under the heel of male oppression for years. Then Feminism. Then Feminism was quietly renovated into a harmless hobby-project to keep masses of women busy; their fight for equality continued but under the contained and controlled guidelines of revolution hampered by bureaucracy and societal restraints. Moving forward through thick mud. Conceptual structures preyed on lone radical ideas."

Let me be completely honest

Let me be completely honest. No truth dodging, no slight passing, no faux presenting, no charade showing, no facade propping, no lie bolstering, just truth. Pure. Distilled. Unadulterated. Crude. Truth.

I got truths. Too many to say. I've got truths stacked up in the back paddock. Up against the shed. Leaning against other truths. Some of them broken under the weight of others. Cracking and breaking. Bits from one laying with bits from another. None whole. None complete. All pieces. An entire cupboard of broken crockery. If you look at the stacks with the sun behind them, at just the right angle, at about 5:30 in the afternoon, or morning, they all start to kind of blur together. They're boundaries all kind of get a little less tangiable. On a hot day, on a really hot day, sometimes, they melt into each other unevenly. One piece of a truth starts the blend in with another piece of truth, and they both sink into the middle of another. Its a mess. Those truths are useless. They aren't even truths anymore.

I perhaps couldn't care less save for the fact that I perhaps couldn't care less

Repetition is the signpost of not caring. The opposite is assumed because strength is usually made up of greater numbers than one. A structure is made with more than one brick. A brick is just a brick. When repetition occurs, it isn't because the thought, words or ideas is so strong it must be said en masse, its because there is nothing else to say. The argument is weak. The repeated is never strong. It just stands on the corpses of its old selves. The repetitious is the majority. The majority is never strong. The majority is the largest target, and the easiest to hit, and the easiest to hurt. Nobody cares about the many. The many is bored and boring. The many is the same. The many is the majority repeated. The many is the repeated majority. Care is in the different and the rare. The few and the scarce. Repetition is the signpost of not caring.

a girl who wanted to be an animal

she had left the road
 literally turned off
 but had never been more turned on
 such freedom in being a little filthy
 a film of a blanket covering your skin
 all sweat and grime
 salt and whispy hair
 dried crusts and trapped crumbs
 skin creases
defined edges
cuticles
 fingernails as tiny refuse centres
so much more visible than they should be
for their size
and colour
and her
and hers
the lone wolf girl
her sex becomes manic and pedestrian
in the same way it is for animals
functionary and thrilling
empty and intense
leaves her without the hang ups
or ironing
of shirts and issues
the next morning
and after
paul says to her "whats your number?"
he genuinely wants to know
he'd like to see more of this dirty beast
she grunts at him
and lights a bent cigarette
the butt rests on her lip
chapped
 he doesn't pursue the request
out of embarrassment
and loss in the stakes of who can care less
because she doesn't
at all
or she does
but only as much
as cat
who doesn't

Today or Yesterday. I don't remember.

I walked to shops today.Or maybe yesterday. I don't remember. I bought some French bread and cigarettes from an stranger acting as shop owner. I camooed home. It was sunny. Sunny and dapply. I felt sad for the grass that had been reduced to husked hair in the heat. I don't even smoke. But I'm sure Arabs do.

16

Sixteen to the day and not a moment too soon,

there didn't seem to be a thing that could stop her from the day she was born.