Monday, October 10, 2011

I am merely your puppet...

October 8, 2011
I move slowly as I know that I am late for school.  As I arrive at the office to check in I find out how late I actually am.  Classes began at 7:30 and I arrive like a dive at 9:15.  I probably should have brushed my hair and teeth.  I stink from last night’s wine.

My husband is a Jazz club singer…a front man for the big bands that are so popular in the ‘30’s.  His pork pie hat sits on his head as if to announce the attitude.  I lie in bed with him and he whispers in my ear.  The sounds he whispers I know are English but I hear them as fax machine bit speak.  His hands wander down my body and his feet wander up my legs.  Out from his soles emerge four tentacle penises.  They wander around my body, searching out and finding resting hiding places.

I am late for the second class.  I move through it with minimal redness rising to my checks.  I have art class next…this is good: a chance to rest and gather my bearings.  As I cross the sky bridge to the art studio I notice that I have not done my math homework.  I could not do it.  I could face the trouble that will result in not having done the mindless worksheets.  I won’t enjoy the studio if I do that though.  So I skip art in order to go do my math homework.

I have locked myself out of my dorm.  I knock and to my relief my dorm mate is inside.  He is having a party with some wolf-human hybrids.  They all are wearing Zoot Suits and watch chains.  They smoke cigarettes.  They leer at me and all break into an a cappella version of “Mack the Knife.”  I will never get my homework done.

I decide at this point that I should drop out of school and become a blow job diva.  I will make millions giving wolf-human hybrids head.  They’ll sing and I’ll blow.

Life moves on like this for decades.  I do make millions and buy a large house on the edge of the Hudson River.  My vista is amazing.

I am old and the lawn needs mowing.  It is sunset and the sky above the river is blood red.  I am alone.  All the wolf-human hybrids have died.  Their children have gone feral and are living in Nevada.  They specialize in quick math solutions.  Exactly what this is, I have no idea.  Because I never did my homework they laugh at me whenever I ask.  Blow jobs are not currency in their world.  So I am alone.  As I turn the riding mower on and pull onto the grass, I sob angrily to myself, wishing.

October 9, 2011

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