Off the Deep End

3
Here I am epical, thinking again about things.
I'm sick of playing games. The skyline is dotted with magpies; When will it rain? Doug wrote me a letter and Julie's mom got her a job as a waitress.

Rambunctious Juvenescence:
Sometimes I think the only fragment of my carefree youth that will remain is my frazzle just-out-of bed hair subtly taunting me in the morning mirror. I used to fucking jostle all the pretty girls passing by in the stiff erection sidewalks of this town, and these days I see their long legs and plastic parts jingle off into the same screw-it-up patterned horizons that I fall burning into time-and-timeagain.
Not even worth opening my mouth.

"Hey baby! You wanna come back to my sexpad and play some strip twister?"
It was pretty romantic. Not like that time I screwed the Bernstein girl in the back of my dad's pickup, or like the orgy scene from Big Knockers 3, but still, it was rather moving. In my mind.
I don't even laugh at the jokes I made a year ago.
Who was that Masked Man?

4
rufescence
A kind of scorched earth vision unfolds through the streets, sewer wash, and local haunts.
The magpie is an inveterate collector, hoarding bits of harsh juxtapositions that are both exquisite & bizarre. Everyone else talks the talk and I only write it all down. Naked truths roaming the dreamy high school hallways. Where your bitch treats you like shit but your boys never fail.

Read me like a book. Unfaithful as you like, the author must never, ever let down his audience. Expectant eyes. Or unexpectant:
Letter from Doug the scientist, empirical in the estaminet. His fiancé left him. Raffish, resigned, rueful, and sad. I remember his face untouched by characteristics, utterly bland and unready for anything.

5
Unrepentant. "All the women let us down" he writes "in the end, the Old Boys Network rises intact once again, as I write to you […] When will you be back in town? So much had changed, was about to change, and then, nothing changes." Nothing Changes. Why learn anything? He doesn't even know who he is any more.

I know who I am.
Do you know who you are?

8
lolred
DMM, his identity a sublime weave of apothegms. Smoking too many cigarettes, drinking too much, the gang in me all drowning unaware in pool water and polo. Why play games? Why collect new experiences when the past fills out all the fittings?
The walls fire portrait rounds, havoc dances its fluty aspects all over my conscience, eyes splash into me from the high dive, love snaps my synapses and I laugh until I cry.