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the titles are my favorite.
the poetry of the symphony of beautiful facades
I wonder what my own text would do to the
chattered a aye.
"electric shocks. I love them. wish you decimate. after all... where's that love you promised me. where is it. possibly maybe."
god, it's been a minute since I've unclenched enough for anything beyond a random pagan poetry.
but this is a story about uncle Scott.
he committed suicide in September and no one found
his body for a while in the house his parents bought him
no pets
EXT. perfect. the house was perfect. it was a southern town in South Carolina.
the dad had died at 93. he had been a doctor and had always supported his youngest troubled son. when my sister married into this family, he was there cousin glenn but the youngest toss away. the oldest son was who my sister married. he was a skinny ocd.
they met through her work as a nurse.
she loved his because his asshole friends made fun of him
and he passed out on their first date
in a plate of food.
she had someone she could rescue
someone she could trust
to know
she wasn't
the
only
broken
one
we attract the level we are at the time.
they mated and got some bounty twins.
sometimes because I would be sporadically single, I would be matched with uncle Scott
yet he was someone who was also crazy like me so the match seemed dumb
and I met uncle Scott bless his sad end and rest his soul in peace.
not sure what to say about him but to me he represented the one thing I used to use as a complete deal-breaker:
close-minded
and the south was strewn with his ilk...
yet you see without the parents - the father and the brother
(he lost his brother and that's another more personal tragedy)
the son
was
adrift
and you heard it here first
FUCK THOSE SISTERS
cunts
"Scott, you'll just have to get some sort of job. sorry. the gravy train is over."
but I'm always protective over the ones like me aren't I?
the ones who didn't use the others to barnacle to them worth
mother/wife
father/herr
me alone with better men for it.
none of my (well, I'm not sure about you Pacific Islander dna) formers ever did anything beyond thrive like the dickens. I did enjoy that line from before sunset when she wails about the bettering former lovers...
there's few things I know about me, yet my facade is not perfect hiding a spew.
my spew spews.
Scott would that yours would do, yet the loss of connection
it's so easy for us
and now
with
the
robots
checking us out at the airport
I'm all for humans free of mundane tasks to free us to dance and dine together
yet not
a landfall
altered carbon
gated/walled
but shit
what do I know. I lied about the lipstick.
I'll put some on.
I did not lie about Bjork.
she's healthy for me.
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