I have decided I like the way veins look. Not those creepy puffy veins you see under the thin onion-skin of the elderly, but just a little blue line beneath the lily-white skin of a lass.. a hint of life; vibrant and temporary. I realize this makes me sound like either a vampire or a racist... but man.. there's lots of other qualities I like.. so you know.. relax. Damn.. can't say anything anymore without people getting all up in my grill.
Ah October, how do I love thee? Let me flaunt the ways.
October reminds me that there are things about this town I truly do love. Just when I'm getting all surly and old (seriously I think I found another gray hair), October creeps up behind me gently caressing my neck and whispering "Baby baby, it's gonna be okay." And there, amongst the explosion of colour and the cool, wet breeze I crumble and bend to her will and become a puddle of myself. And there I weep. I weep for all things joyous and otherwise. Oh October, I do I do love you and though I know I will see you shimmy away too too soon your infallible ship will sail back my way again right when I need you. Now kiss me October; kiss me while we still have time.
Speaking of which, driving into work this morning and brakes that are failing (which is quite an exciting experience let me tell you... if they fail fully I am aiming for a school bus. Sooo.. if you're reading this and your kids go to those upper middle class schools in West County... pray to whatever deity you believe in that my brakes continue to work. Hiya!), I pressed the pedal racing against the globe's own force. That damned star peeking over the horizon to prod my rear view (heh) mirror with eye blinding rays. But lo, there upon the sky, stretched and withered like old cotton candy drying in the August sun were stringy Cirrus clouds. And as I crested the Missouri river, amongst the low-lying cliffs along the shore were the mists of Autumn; floating, clinging to the canopy of trees so one could almost believe it was the darkest heart of the jungle.
Anyway, it made coming into work a little more bearable is all I am saying. (That is all I am saying. I'm just saying is all. All is sayings, I am just.)
You know, it's a shame that only suicides get the option to write final goodbye notes. I mean, if I get hit by a bus (or punch into one at top speed with brakes that no longer work), I will have nothing but whatever I last wrote left behind as a parting thought. In my case this could be good or bad, as there are a couple words I've strung together that I wouldn't mind being such, however, quite a few of them would be a terrible affair. With my luck it would be something like "Pianist In a Cup". Hell I think it's almost destined to be so. In an effort to circumventrilocutionate this, I shall now pen an "In the Event of my (Un)Timely Death" letter.. which is like a "Dear John" letter, but involves only one person really. So, in case of my death, read below, but clearly not before.
Dear $SO/$Family Member/$Police Officer/President Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga of Sri Lanka, Hi there! You may be wondering why I am lying in a pool of my own blood/hanging with a face like a blueberry/on fire/in pieces. Well let me tell you, at the point I write this, so am I. Regardless, there is one thing I can say about it: Sorry to give you nightmares.
Well, that's a lie... I'm not really sorry. I'm dead. I can't be. But, if I can be anything I'm retroactively apologetic... well kind of. Anyway, take comfort in the fact that whatever horror you're experiencing at this very moment is a mere shadow of a thing to what I would've liked to inflict upon you. I know this isn't really a comfort but it's something. Also if I still have pockets you can rifle through them for change. I don't usually keep change and I can't see myself really doing so in the future, but you may find a ridiculously expensive electronic device if you're lucky and don't mind cleaning blood/innards/the tears of schoolchildren off of it.
Anyway, thanks for finding me. Don't tell anyone about the birthmark you found or this message will self-destruct with some half-crazed hantavirus, causing you to melt and dribble bits of you all over the carpet that shouldn't normally so do. I'm just saying.
Or barring that you can imagine it done in a Penthouse forum fashion. Just make sure that it states I was suffocated under so many Ladies. So... very... many.
Oh and it should start with the line "I never thought it would happen to me..."
Actually.. damn that sounds pretty good... if I make it to retirement age I just might hire like.. 60 nubile lasses and order a pile on. Mmm... pylons.
What the fuck? I should get back to pretending to work. See ya.
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