Where was I?
The Diaries of the Ill-Contempt
It's thirty past two in darkness, and I am a drunken man. The mosquitoes hum a song of destitute to my defective hearing, possibly overwhelmed by the bitterness of the damsel's cry of despair. Telling me her story.
Why is it that when she sneezes the dust from my desk stays put, unaffected by the solemn wind from her nasal?
Is it because it has been embedded into the very sheaves or cracks that make up this timber?
Well, this table's only 2 years old at that..
"Please, you don't have to do this. You used to love me. Why is it that you need to leave the rest of the world to fall under your liking?"
BANG, goes the inappropriately cohesive sound of an exploding car across the street.
"I'll talk to you about Mary later. Speaking about the dead bothers me"
Especially to the person that borne the said cadaver.
Where was I? Oh, yes. So I was getting sick of Night. She used to come home late. And complain about the silliest thing. It was then I discovered my truly cardinal desires of wanting, not needing, sex. Marriage has caused me to perceive things rather differently.
And not in anyway a factor of me staying loyal to the Vow.
I met Mary at a dark alley.
"Haha, you sir. Sir, in the cardigan excuse of an overcoat"
Is it because it has been embedded into the very sheaves or cracks that make up this timber?
Well, this table's only 2 years old at that..
"Please, you don't have to do this. You used to love me. Why is it that you need to leave the rest of the world to fall under your liking?"
BANG, goes the inappropriately cohesive sound of an exploding car across the street.
"I'll talk to you about Mary later. Speaking about the dead bothers me"
Especially to the person that borne the said cadaver.
Where was I? Oh, yes. So I was getting sick of Night. She used to come home late. And complain about the silliest thing. It was then I discovered my truly cardinal desires of wanting, not needing, sex. Marriage has caused me to perceive things rather differently.
And not in anyway a factor of me staying loyal to the Vow.
I met Mary at a dark alley.
"Haha, you sir. Sir, in the cardigan excuse of an overcoat"
I hated people who made fun of my overcoat. I remember taking out my gun to that slut.
"If you have any business you would like to offer me, or any investigative services that you require off of me, please do so while I'm at the office" hand sliding off the steel trigger. "Otherwise, I'm on my way back home. Where I can...well..definitely take off my overcoat without anyone indifferently criticizing it. Understood?"
She was shivering in the rain. But you could tell she wasn't shaken by the probability of a bullet, because she was smiling. "C'mon there sweetie, I've handled madder souls than yours"
"If you have any business you would like to offer me, or any investigative services that you require off of me, please do so while I'm at the office" hand sliding off the steel trigger. "Otherwise, I'm on my way back home. Where I can...well..definitely take off my overcoat without anyone indifferently criticizing it. Understood?"
She was shivering in the rain. But you could tell she wasn't shaken by the probability of a bullet, because she was smiling. "C'mon there sweetie, I've handled madder souls than yours"
Sometimes the devil wins. But I'm not much of a bible reader. Inhibition seemed queer really, when made by an author only specific to those who believe. As for the Government, and the laws they made...well let's just say everyone believes in the Goverment. In existence, at the least.
She was good.
"So I presume, with the pipe and all, that you sir, are a detective?", mumbled Mary with a cigarette propped at the left side of her mouth.
"This...is not a pipe. It's a wooden carving of one. I'm a surrealist you see"
I remembered her demeanour of never showing her naivety, and always acknowledging the things that come out from my mouth.
"And how much does a surrealist make a month?"
"Sigh, I will pay you do not have to worry on such a conundrum"
*typewriter jams*
"My God"
*gunshot through the typewriter*
"I hate this bloody contraption, always leave things half-finished it does", said I while fumbling my fingers at the broken letters left on the floor
"You really do have a knack for breaking things you can't fix. Leaving at them at a worse state than before. You killed me not knowing how to fix me" uttered Night without any semblance of emotion.
"Shut up"
"You killed Mary when you found out she had AIDS"
"SHUT UP!"
She was good.
"So I presume, with the pipe and all, that you sir, are a detective?", mumbled Mary with a cigarette propped at the left side of her mouth.
"This...is not a pipe. It's a wooden carving of one. I'm a surrealist you see"
I remembered her demeanour of never showing her naivety, and always acknowledging the things that come out from my mouth.
"And how much does a surrealist make a month?"
"Sigh, I will pay you do not have to worry on such a conundrum"
*typewriter jams*
"My God"
*gunshot through the typewriter*
"I hate this bloody contraption, always leave things half-finished it does", said I while fumbling my fingers at the broken letters left on the floor
"You really do have a knack for breaking things you can't fix. Leaving at them at a worse state than before. You killed me not knowing how to fix me" uttered Night without any semblance of emotion.
"Shut up"
"You killed Mary when you found out she had AIDS"
"SHUT UP!"
Mr. Witherson? Letter from the Government.
Dear Mr. Witherson,
Dear Mr. Witherson,
It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been chosen to enter the Asylum Of Lunary Hope, as to your unorthodox behaviour that leaves you off of the Consumerisma society normal routine of living.
The last time you shopped, or even stepped foot into the Mall Temple was ages ago. Thus due to these occurences that disturbs us, we have found out that you belong in the shelter-place of the Bohemians, housing not more than 230,000 weirdos.
We would also like to inform you that your term from the All-Seeing Eye Intelligence Agency has been abrogated. Thus leaving you jobless
Yours faithfully
Wry Woods
Capitalist #2849
Government Officer
Have a nice day.
The last time you shopped, or even stepped foot into the Mall Temple was ages ago. Thus due to these occurences that disturbs us, we have found out that you belong in the shelter-place of the Bohemians, housing not more than 230,000 weirdos.
We would also like to inform you that your term from the All-Seeing Eye Intelligence Agency has been abrogated. Thus leaving you jobless
Yours faithfully
Wry Woods
Capitalist #2849
Government Officer
Have a nice day.
No comments:
Post a Comment