Sunday, July 18, 2010

Crazy Quarters Make Me Laugh

Off=

Tick:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:Let's do this live, while the clock is free:
:It has been going "Weee!" to boils and gels about finding a story:
:After 1.75 years:
:The clock has been ticking and tocking about losing its screws:
:Losing that little screw that makes all the other screws sane:
:To tell time to be sane, it has avoided watching quarters turn:
:The clock counts how many quarters it has skipped:
:Remembering peachy pies and consonants on crack:
:Or two, maybe three or four or how many quarters more =

Count::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:1::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Quarter turned from a screwed-over-by-a-goth-chick boy into this hung-over-from-Red-Horse high school chicks counselor. The quarter gained weight, scribbles what may be poems, takes pictures, and hangs out with another quarter every Sunday for man-dates. This quarter is found now and then wherever there's a band playing death metal or trash. He still thinks he's not cute, and yeah these goth chicks are psycho and these goth dudes really want to look like chicks=

Count::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:2:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Quarter turned from a bald-page-licking-boy into this workaholic-accountant. He tries to scribble too, but never finishes, afraid to be possessed by the virus of passion, thinks it's his Mommy's fault and not wanting to be like his Daddy. He grew his hair to emo-length and now listens to Christian bands. He fell in love. He got kissed, even fondled, but his love didn't want to sleep with him. He says, yeah, it sucks, love sucks=

Count:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::3:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Quarter turned from an angry but sporadically happy boy into a young future tycoon. He is a single-mama magnet, they joke. He found the chick he would love forever and he wanted to marry. Turns out she's married. Now he's married to his work and to himself. He says he still loves her, but fuck that shit, and returns to reading and writing codes, singing while drunk in Videokes about how he chokes=

Count::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
4:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The clock was unscrewed for these turnings: But sometimes crazy quarters come and it turns those who move in quarters: Like Satan who was the President of the Suicide Club until he resigned and became a good lawyer: Dude, the clock says, Do you still remember when we were a quarter: Good God, the Dude says, We were fucked up then and fucked over by clocks: And so the clock says: Right, a kiss is never just but is a kiss: And so is a fuck: And so is a toke: That ho-ho-ho-joke about boozy floozies: Cocking guns and lesbos telling the clock that a quarter is a nice solid number=

Count:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
5::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The truth is not an insult, Lighten up, Not THAT kind of lighting up, Pay attention to morphology, A kiss and a hug for 2012 is nigh, You wonder what that would bring, Jesus Christ, Satan, Freddy Mercury, Jim Morrison, Hendrix, Elvis, All the famous dead people, All the impossible things like boy bands reunited and all gays turning straight, And of course Michael Jackson, You make the clock laugh, With your hazy musings and potty hangovers, The clock's quarter can tell you all about who fucked whoever raped you in your car, The clock is sounding you on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on=

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::Tock.

No comments: