beanofdoom's profile

when the old woman finally got the door open. i was gone, having sublimated into a heavy gas the likes of which being responsible for the recent deaths of some 30,000 somolias at the hand of the texaco oil company. she pulled and pulled at the knob. she twisted and turned it but the ricekty old door wouldn't budg; perhaps i had never entered the room at all. an axe occured to her but she was afraid that her old hands wouldn't be able lift it. behind the house in the tool shed the old axe hung...

It bothers me that he is calling himself a writer now and I know that he's just doing it for proof, proving something to himself, proving something to the vagina opposite self so that it'll embrace him. And while I do it for the same reasons or similar reasons there's a part to his endeavor that is like anything else he does: he is trying to claim another piece of me and it makes me angry. More than anything I find it annoying, this goal of his to be everything I am plus. so now he's a writer...

My arm was fucked up but I was more worried about my leg, there was a hole in it all the way down to the bone and I was bleeding all over the fucking the place. I was surrounded by people I didn’t know and they were asking me how I was. The street looked pure, the day was crisp, the sun was shining and I was appearantly bleeding to death; I have lived for thirty years and everything is all wrong. I see my life stretching out behind me, toward nothing. I see my decisions lit up like the mansio...

There was once a very old king who realized that he was going to die soon. He called his men to him and said: "I am going to die soon but I dont want it to be a difficult transition; what should I do to distract me while I die?" The men went into the gold and blue waiting room with the high-ceiling and talked in low voices. The king, lying fevered and delirious in the next room would hear them sometimes when their voices got louder: "...blue-upholstered mahogany stools..." It was considered t...

Two men in orange environmental suits were waiting on me when I got home today. They were in the living room on the sofa; protected from the real world. They had downed two and a half of bottles of port between them via specialized compartments that allowed them to imbibe chemical samples. "Can I get you guys something; a glass of wine?" (The fucks) "Mr. Neal," said the orange one "we're here to watch you die and take notes." I knew it, I KNEW it! I had found the love of my life today. She wa...