Now it is time to discuss pigs. They are round and flat, and you can milk them as long as you like. I stroked a pig with my antler and it bellowed my name into my face so that my face shattered into thousands of little piglets, each of which bellowed the name of another piglet so loudly that the clocks collided and collapsed and there was no more time.
Will you allow me to tell you a story? Since this is being written now and not in the future, I guess I will proceed regardless of your feelings. If you do not want to hear the story, you can fuck off and shit in a pan. I walked into a wall and instead of running into it I merged with it and became it. It felt good. It felt really, really good. The particles that once made up my arms and legs and hair and breath were now being employed for other purposes, such as being parts of a wall or something. Mainly being parts of a wall.
I have so many things to tell you. I just don't even know where to begin. Okay, let me be serious for a moment. I really mean this. There is just so much inside my face that I want to eject into your face by these means, these means being these words, and these words representing the things in my face. I guess my face is made up of little particles too, so it's sort of like... Well, one might say I'm carefully transferring some particles from one face to another. It doesn't really matter whose face or whose face, just that they are faces, so that's that. BYE.
SHIT ON MY SOCKS. GOD. WHILE I SIT, I BAKE, AND WHILE I BAKE, I THINK.
And what do I think about? Well, if you want to know, read this stuff:
I have to tell you some stuff. I own a little machine that is composed of bits of plastic and metal formed into the shapes of mechanisms that interact and give rise to a collection of opposing entities, each lazily grasping at another. If the machine so much as taps against a thing or a thing, it'll fall apart, and that can't be good, because no machines means no machines, and no more machines means no more machines, so that would be SHITTY.
Jenkins was a tired man, but an experienced one. An experienced man, that is. Every morning when he woke up, he would knowingly and carefully inspect all of the intricate tiny facets of his teeth until he was bleeding all over the kitchen sink.
"MOM! I'M BLEEDING ALL OVER THE GODDAMN PLACE. MY FACE IS TORN UP BECAUSE I AM SO INTO MY TEETH AND TAKING CARE OF THEM AND I NEED TO KNOW EVERY DETAIL OF THEM SO THAT THEY DON'T DECAY AND SO THAT I DON'T SUDDENLY RUPTURE! MOM! MOM MOM MOM!"
He knew that his mother had died seventy billion decades earlier, but he continued to yell for her every morning until he collapsed on the floor with a sore throat. His friends would eventually smell the blood and come running to his aid, saying, "JENKINS. OH JENKINS. OH OH OH OH JENKINS JENKINS JENKINS JENKINS OH NO OH NO SHIT SHIT SHIT HEY JENKINS HEY JENKINS HEY WHOA I LOVE YOU JENKINS I NEED YOU AND I NEED YOUR MONEY AND I WANT YOUR FACE TO FEEL BETTER SO THAT I CAN SLEEP TONIGHT. JENKINS. JENKLINS. JENKELSON. JENKELTON. LORD GOD SAVE THIS MAN."
Maybe I should return to my earlier style of prose. Here, try this on for size: We love you, so here's a thing: I love you, but I want to you know one thing before I die: My grandfather once said to me, "I am your grandfather, and I expect you to treat me as such." Well, listen. I don't want to come off as rude or anything, but my grandfather is a little pile of sticky fat shit tusks. Fuck that guy, he ought to shove a dark hammer up his dickhole.
But I don't want to end on that note. I want to return to that thing I was saying about these things I've been saying to people; namely, that I've been saying things to some people but not others. Try to feel all of my nerves and muscles and bones so that you get the big picture of who I really am. I strive to become the best, but I always borrow the wrong things at the wrong times, and this is where I run into the most trouble. Tickle me and I'll give you a lemon. Give me a lemon and I'll murder you. *SLITS WRISTS AND SCREAMS FOREVER*
