Thursday, February 13, 2003
“It would be wise not to laugh in the face of the wind, you, who doesn’t know from where your breath comes. It would be better if you drowned yourself than continue your charade.”
“Shut up, Davis,” said Scott.
“I will never shut up. Not until the last of you hear what the Living God has told me to say. Fools you are, abusing your nicotine and bad wine, dreaming you can escape the will of your creator, stealing from your co-worker, ignoring the beggar. Answer me this. When you meet He who made you, He who separated the seas from the sands, He who gave birth to the clouds, He who designed the food you eat, what will you say?”
“I don’t give a shit,” said Scott. He finished his dark Michelob beer.
“Here these words, Scott, for all your health resides on them. Repent. Give. Give as much as you have taken. Give more. You will not make it past the end of this world. You will burn for ever more.”
Scott spit in Davis’ face, laughed, lit a cigarette, inhaled, exhaled, looked to see if there was a “hot chick” to eye, stood up from the barstool, adjusted his belt, lifted his designer slacks, fell down, grabbed his chest and died.
- kimmel
8:24 AM
Sunday, February 09, 2003
this post is continued from 2-4-03 post:
"I've never done this before," Davis said inching closer to her sweaty body.
"Yes you have." She smiled.
Davis was confused. Never had he made love to a complete stranger.
"I must confess this has never happened before," said Davis.
"Perhaps," she said rubbing her hands on her plump breasts.
"Perhaps?. . . It's the truth."
"Oh Davis, you're so feisty." Davis now lay beside her. Her skin was smooth up close. He felt dizzy. Her slick nails flowed like a rake down his flaky back. “But you have, Davis. You do every day. You make love to the TV.
“TV?”
“Oh, yes Davis.” Her lips were full and smelled like a department store.
“But the television is an inanimate object, and I don’t even watch television."
“Don’t lie, Davis. Your heart lusts after those woman on the reality shows.”
“What’s wrong with the woman on reality shows?”
“Nothing, just like there’s nothing wrong with the two of lusting. They are the same.”
“You’re a live woman, though!” Davis said.
“Yes, so are they.”
{more later)
Author's note: I'm attempting to, and have not succeded yet, to draw the analogy that making love to a stranger is just like making love to a TV. Imagine fucking a TV. If your a male, imagine sticking your **** , or rather imagine cutting a hole in the back of the thing and sticking your **** in it, feel the scrape, the wires prickling about, the lifelessness. And to the ladies, imagine a big clunky television jammed up your ****, imagine the pressure as each part pokes and tears. How violating.
Is this what making love is? All this sex on TV, I might as well be drinking rust.
- kimmel
7:21 PM
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
Davis had a dream. He was about to have sex with a blond nymph named Jezebel. She lay length wide on his twin bed wearing nothing but faux leather, chocolate, cowboy boots. Her legs, bent slightly, were as smooth as gravy and her hair was as fine as silt. She was tall, her ass was like a heart shaped pillow.
“Were did you come from?” Davis said.
“The bottom of a lake.”
“Why are you here?”
“To make love with you, of course,” whispered she. Then with her rhythmic index finger she summoned him.
“I’ve never done this before,” Davis said edging closer to her naked body.
- kimmel
5:01 PM
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