I Don't Know What "Tenebrous" Means: A Work of Fiction
“Puhleez take it away-the pain!”
He eyed me over the foggy video cam, altogether pent-up. Blink. Blink.
“I’m(connection: error,error,error) TRYING you fool!” I said, stumbling with my mouse. Finally the speech came up in word.
“LORD god almighty, creator of heaven and earth, knower of search engines, lover of google and the youtube, diviner of ebaumsworld, knower of all knowledge- look upon your child through his webcam; Jeffrey, your child, seeks your most accurate of search engines!
Um…Seek for us the most effective website with instructions for:
Pulling a tooth safely!…and also cheap pet supplies for his dog, Milton.”
“Lourd GAwd pleeez do!” Jeffrey screamed through the cam.
I began again: “JEFFREY T. BOONE-MANCHESTER JR. JR. might your sins be forgiven by the knowledge
Of our god! Lest bliss and his brother ignorance make another appearance, know herein lies
The external link to your solutions in life! Pull your tooth! Love your dog!”
“Puhwaise GAWD PUHWAISE HIM DAMMIT”
Jeffrey was getting way too into it for me. They always got way into it. He praised in static
As his credit card digits ticked over like dominos for my treatment: (5306-4600-etc)
I was sure google would have thumbnails for ‘pulling teeth’
I’m sitting now with my friend in his apartment (900ft square) as he screams mid-conversation “ANTS!!!!!” and proceeds to hammer the floor with his left thumb. Obsessively. I don’t understand Will. He speaks in tongues, most of them selfish. He’s corn-silk, blonde abandon, now knowing and unknowing all the ills of society at large, being 21. I stay the same, childless, tortoise of time, gazing at echoes of everyone, taking on the strongest as my own.
We lounge on his couch, 4 stories up in the grime of some apartment complex. He starts talking again, about religion. About how the world has lost sight of god, and how 2012 all of this is. I know the drunk talk is starting, because “God” has been mentioned. ANTS. ANTS….A N T S!!!!!
We pounce on the carpet, shirking duties of drunken discussion, struggling like pioneers. Will has no taste for ants he says, and finds a nearby can of AXE to ensure the bugs have their 6th grade dance before hell explodes out of the can for a solid 5 seconds. The carpet burns like milk-fat, dripping anonymous materials and smoldering in brilliant hues of burned hair and bonding glue. It smells simply inhumane.
Minutes tick by as we drink in the quart of the ying, and the carpet smokes as much as we do. Will is worried about the fumes: “We’ll get fuckin’ cancer from this shit” he says, passing a joint. I myself have no stomach for articles or scientific thought, as one should always know everything causes cancer. There’s enough cancer in your toothpaste to drive 4 oxen into the sun. Enough wisdom teeth pulled from this generation to make an ignorant size, and you bet we would buy the fuck out of it.
So we sit in the even symmetry of smog abound, passing another joint, well-fed and utterly fucked. A haze everything but facile graces the room and I tell Will that cancer is everything, everywhe-ANTS!!!!!
No one looks good in the eyes of the state. If you need proof, look at your id picture.
The earth spins as a child walks on ice: without expecting to move
On ‘intellectual copyrights’: I was the first to think this thought that I just thought. Anyone else who had this thought I just thought before me or after must un-think those thoughts I just thinked. Yes.
Old gran-dad whisky is good and cheap.
Television is always boring, but nobody ever turns it off even after saying “there’s nothing on”.
“You’re at a Parisian café, and you’re reading your Sartre book and you’re reading Le Monde and you’re thinking of the big issues of the world and you see there’s a dog under the table next to you and you pet the dog. You don’t suddenly become stupid when you pet the dog.”—Jonah Peretti