See a perfect beach ball shaped couple waddle and swap chewing gum tongues in fat heads. Love comes in all shapes and fucks. Eat a plate of greasy meat. Clog lick the heart. An actor with platted goatee has admitted that he has a massive illegal gun collection just before blowing his brains out onto a bowl of red spaghetti. Want to make a robot to replace me. Then it can stomp a city or two. A tornado has hit a Vietnam village and swept over 5,000 into the slaughter or OZ. No mirrors in the room, no sun in my head. Criss cross kill a bug. Why’d you do that, it did nothing to you, there it was, just minding it’s own business and you had to- They only have a short life, a few days. So, it was a conscious being. Shut up. Want more grease, want to crush it and feel it drip down the fist. Inside out egg carton stomp. Kick a rock for fun. Start up, stare down. A bad bar. Go in. Spackle out. Shiny gold floods into the noir hole over the tip tongue taste across back filled teeth down the wince throat past pumps the heart into guts sits for a bit while being processed into intoxication by the limey liver and moves into intestinals before beautiful bladder rebirthing water redistribution. Pour me another one. What’s the magic word. Ricockulous? You’re vile. But funny. Not at all. You smiled. No. Smidgy smirk pour pour. Sclock sclock. The stainy glass sits half empty with poison. Her poached eyes stare on the verge of potential picklement. Pure fucking horror. What are you doing? I’m bored. Razor slow start drags cutting wrinkling fresh flesh leaving open a ploughed trailed maroon line. Don’t do that. What? She lifts it more exposing a wound verging the length of an unsmoked coffin nail. Give it here. Temper tantrum snatch the razor away. This is how you do it. Clench teeth stretch skin tight to be parted by the stainless steel. Pressure it down breaking through the layers. Blood simultaneously pops to air and lightens. Feel the blade pressing down but not the sting of pain. Drag it up and down and around and along the arm. Nothing. Feel the tear but no pain. Shrill back down to earth. She’s screaming lungs into throat. Never heard you scream before. What the fuck! Hold out the pulsing red network of cut rivers and run off waterfalls for her to see. That’s how you do it. What the fuck is wrong with you? It doesn’t hurt, I can’t feel it at all. Not anything? No. Throws her glass against the table. Picks up a soaking chunk of the melted sand. Try this. Push it deep into the soft back of my palm. Only the force, not the pain. What happened to you? Something, in the sleep, must of, I don’t know, the nerves aren’t right anymore. Drive down deep inside ourselves but find a mass of spurting wet organs so come back to the surface and wake up. Something is broken. A small vein. The flow has stopped. Nails grow with sluggish speed. Cold cuticles. Hair sits dead worm like on the head. Can you feel my heart beat? I don’t want to touch you. Fuck off, do it. No. Stare. She puts pus warm fingers to the throat. Yeah, some movement, maybe. Right, normal enough. An indestructible grain of sand ejects from the eye of a star and ejaculates towards earth, Accelerating at multiples of millions of kilometres per second, By the time it reaches earth it is travelling at the speed of infinite, It has already destroyed earth before it even got here, A thin hole pierced by the approaching material causes oceans to run in and cool the core, Hot sweaty mud chocolate breaks from that pimple and crashes down, Dirt drowned pores, Mouths chunked with earthy delights, Choking, Swimming in thick tarry brown, Watching everyone else go, No fire, No famine, No disease, Just swallowed back into an instant burial. So that’s how you’d like to see the world end? Yeah, you? I want to see it melt. Like plastic in a big microwave? Yeah, but also with some foil in there, you know how it arks when you accidentally put it in. Yeah, so lightning and melting all round? Yeah! Ah you how I think it will really happen? How? Boredom. Go on. Well, there’ll be a leader who’ll have it all, power, porn, prostitutes, powders, but he’ll have no ties, ya know, like no family, no wife, no dog, no real friends, and one day he’ll just think this is fucked, I’m gonna give that button a press. They can’t just do that though can they, don’t they need a couple of them to push the button? Yeah, but he’ll figure out a way, see he’s been thinking about it for awhile, maybe since he was young, could’ve been the reason he got into power ya know, like he just wanted the opportunity to say, I’m number one. Would you push the button? Yeah probably. You? Nope. Why? I just wouldn’t do it, such a stupid way to end it all, a little human pushing a little button, it’s pathetic. You even smoking that thing? Nah, you asked me to hold it when you started rambling. Vacuum open lungs for sweet harsh material entrance. But, ah fuck it, I dunno what we’re even talking about anymore. Nah, you want to get down from here? Alright. Push hands slide back across burnt tiles. Slow stand and watch for crumbling areas. Pigeons twist diseased knowing eyes straining in blown bubble heads attached to speckled necks across at us. Find the hole we came out of. Back down across large and tiny rooms filled with broken mirrors, burnt cotton, religious icons with smashed in heads, running obscenity tags quick written on ceilings, and mould growing from cavities. Two floors later. Still no sounds anywhere. Finally the burned out church exits us into the alarming unarmed chasing night.
The Sour Milk Suck Experience