10.25.2010

essay on loneliness with line breaks based on a dream i had about the phrase "rollerblading through mashed potatoes" that starts out full of stupid jokes and ends full of stupid sentimentality; in conclusion i am stupid and i am going to eat pizza tomorrow with a talented walker



WRONG KING OF FOG

All my friends are swapping coasts on me. They ask for audiobook
suggestions. Why not occupy a trip with a trip? I know I’m being
annoying. Silence is the worst little brother. O witnesses, oblivious
to mustard stains below. Rollerblading through mashed potatoes.
Fingernail injury is a common problem with astronaut gloves.
If I can guess somebody’s dance moves before I’ve seen them
execute, I know they have a greater chance of murdering me.
Tonight I walked home behind a couple telling ghost stories.
Their tales starred floating chopsticks and sleep apnea. Boo
hoo. What I did wonder was how to scare them, and I thought of
friends I could call who might have the best ideas. Note: not
necessarily my scariest friends. An honest-to-God wall phone
in the house I can see from my window just rang, and all I
know is that it’s not me. Today the weather felt like a tourist.
Tomorrow I am going to eat pizza with a man who walked
service roads, mostly, from Georgia to Los Angeles. On the
way, a Dairy Queen marketing campaign interviewed him for
their show. They made a big deal of giving him coupons that
didn’t work. One group we never follow up with is gameshow
winners. One thing my heart has never tried is the most obvious
anything. Still rollerblading through mashed potatoes. Embodied
everything, such as “below you” involving how high your head is.
If I can guess somebody’s injuries before I’ve starred in their
ghost stories, I am one more no one calls their scariest character
reference. Yes, we do know what time it is, so don’t answer the phone
that way. One day I want to sneak up on myself with someone else’s
dance moves. Maybe record an audiobook for a marketing campaign
that details the daily chances of someone below my head murdering
my head, all dependent on factors like how many gloves float discarded
up there, way up, up near the way you're saving your best jokes for trips
you make up. Meanwhile, I could call out for a friend in any night that is
happening right now, and be answered by those still rollerblading through
all they know would be there for them if they knew enough to be alone.

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