Few things have consumed me more than the obsession I've had to know more about Beth Hurley. It is hard to say why she interested me so much in the first place. She's beautiful, undoubtedly so; but so are dozens of other girls I see on a daily basis. In fact, now that I think about it, it certainly wasn't her beauty alone - it was something else. It was her simplicity, I think. It was the matter-of-factly manner in which every word that came out of her mouth was spoken. It was the way her eyes teased me, revealing just enough to rouse my curiosity, never enough to fully satisfy it. It was as though there were unspoken thoughts and abandoned feelings inside of her, both of which added many more dimensions to her beauty, and it was upon my job to find those out and make her even more beautiful than she already was.
the pendulum swung, the cockroaches scuttled and he thought. He thought of all his fingers. Each one tapping against his emaciated calf. his long unruly hair scratched the discs of his spine which were protruding from the ghostly flesh. whispering to him, the cockroaches told him of sunlight and of food. he did not understand. He did not understand much for one cannot know much if they have never left the boundaries in which one is born into. Deprived of experience and therefor wisdom, the most intelligent being rotted away beneath silky cobwebs
i swear the mirrors are changing. They contort my figure, they persuade my frown. Swirling through the reflective surface. Rising from the bleak night, the sun appeared that morning and my face glowed yellow, lips stretched up my cheeks and long black eyelashes tickling my pink eyelids. Now sat beside the mirror, my lips stretch down my cheeks, my face is pale and sickly, short eyelashes in clumpy mascara which smeared over my eyelids glistening on the purple bruises. Its the same day, i have not touched my face, yet it appears different. Im hiding from them, the mirrors, they trick me, they change me
I came into the world wearing blindfolds and ankle shackles. But I’m through complaining. The world is a complaint factory, where each mass produced drone spews forth their slanted gossip. I’m wearing blindfolds, striving for a glimpse of nature. The world is a stage for wall builders, who show off their many creative designs for blocking people out. Poor hot people looking for an ice cube while wealthy people think deeply about God in their air-conditioned homes. And the bitching and moaning never stops. "I don’t believe you," he said, as if we hadn’t just met. I’m telling the truth, though. You can tell by the contortions on the faces of my audience. You can tell by the loosened shackles for which I was bound. You can tell by the blindfold laying on the ground.
You just roll with the flow, don't you, Cappar? You were in the rural landscapes, now your landing in an airplane. You were taking in a view, now your viewing a take in, aren't you? Please tell us again about your lost luggage and the overwhelming attendance at your "Put a Bow On It" presentation-show. Tell us again about your bestselling book, "Your More of a Rockstar than You Think." You clever, clever man. How could so much insightitude protrude from just one lobe of brain? Bless us with more of your ego radiance. Bless us with more of your timeless shine. Can I take your coat? Can I take your socks? You just do what you want to, don't you Cappar? Don't you just take the things that gleam? Don't you just roll where they need you most?