Horton-Scorton
Bluelighter
Go on!
It's about you and me, I made it you ate it.
Enjoy.
Here goes.
Mark ate breakfast; it was so good. Mark forgot to call his sister last night. She was probably upset. He cringed. And then he finished eating the cereal. Good cereal. How do they make Mark's cereal that good?
Mark had been eating cereal a lot, and often it was for breakfast. Love starts right in on the tongue. The bowl to the hole! Good to eat...
but
beautiful ladies love well
Mark, Mark...Mark!
Before going out for a sunday walk, he just (now let me tell you) ...
!
okay...it's time...boing...
he just fell over limp on the loveseat and cried hard with basically no warning. BOinG-uh! It just happened, might gotta might needings ta, to pull it together my man my Mark. He pulled it together.
Then on the walk he took after the cry just as planned in the neighborhood that was good he thought about the weather and sex and sidewalk maintenance and the meaning of life and there was the aftertaste of cereal lingering. MMMMMM good. Tasty. And tears he had swallowed. He knew he was gonna cry again probably in a couple of hours probably in a bookstore or something. It's cool, though, I'm not ashamed of being in touch with my feelings, Mark told a lot of girls and some guys and once a pretty smart cat. And he said it to his own reflections. And to God.
Fuck myself, Mark mumbled in a half-ass Mark-mumble.
One time he rented a tuxedo for like, literally no reason. Except for his urge to lotion his emotion. To lotion world's emotion. And to lotion the emotion of that special girl. He ate nachos and the white sauce he was dipping in, well let's just say it got on the tuxedo. Mark said shit and cleaned it, kind of. None of the girls liked it; he didn't get laid or have a meaningful relationship from the tuxedo he rented. Fuck that tuxedo. He passed out on his loveseat in that tuxedo. It was comfy? Not at all.
Mark was thinking about the not-at-all-worth-it tuxedo on his sunday walk. Maybe other fashions were nowadays considered more attractive? He thought about reading more magazines. Getting in touch was such an important thing. The now is where it's at. Mark checked out a girl on a bike. The joy was undermined by its visions of the future. Bummer, but the girl had a bit of a cute butt, and she had glasses so she probably read books and Mark liked that in a girl.
A lot of people ride bikes.
Some people are learning to ride bikes.
Some are demonstrating how to ride bikes.
Some on bikes doing tricks to impress.
Some on bikes going to work or play.
Some on bikes for leisure.
Some on bikes by profession.
Some on bikes racing.
Some on bikes keeping up.
Some on bikes getting ahead.
Some on bikes that are stationary.
Some on bikes for exercise.
Some on bikes drunk and stoned.
All sorts of asses sit on bikes.
People do other things though. Bikes could be eliminated from the reality-thang, and see if I would care.
I guess I would.
Mark started crying on his walk, and the bald tough-guy in a wifebeater with a spaghetti stain who was mowing his lawn looked at Mark and thought, like what the fuck is this guy embarrassing himself for? What a faggy poindexter...men should not cry. Satisfied he was right, the guy mowed his lawn and Mark left his mind and he asked his wife for a pink lemonade, bitch. However, her death had not yet set in, and yeah, the world was collapsing for him. He ate a pretzel that had promised pleasure with its beauty. Temptation from pretzel (unfaithful to dead wife). Food and sex make the world go round. Food and sex make money go around. Food and sex make diseases go round. You cook a chicken you slap on a condom. Safety first. Unless the world wants kaboom!
Mark was still walking, crying harder than his dick at its hardest moment. He was like, going through like real tough world-stuff. A baby in a stroller marveled at Mark's crying odd face. The mother pushing the baby didn't give a shit about anyone crying. Good mom, good mom. Eventually Mark started trying to hitchhike, and he didn't know why. He was thinking like a sea cucumber; dumb.
It took awhile, but a really attractive girl pulled over. HOLY SHIT! Is this the new way?
Mark wanted a new girl so bad and reality had just presented the prospect of sex-perfection in such a nice package. He hopped on in and eyed the cute girl, still crying but no longer sad.
What happened next?
Tell me.
Go on.
Mark my words.
Mark thy words.
Word is a word.
But
The word, is word.
World is word is world.
After they had been talking in the car for a while, Mark like literally knew he was, like, totally in love with this girl. She was understanding, sensitive, well-educated, spiritually aware, and totally turned on by the tears, man. Totally. Mark wanted to ravage her body and fuck the universe. And just talk about God under the stars and cry together. Or just have sex. Or just talk. Or just talk. Whatever. Her voice was like Moses as a girl; real holy, ocean-parting authority. Also, she sounded like a teddy bear with a heart of fuzzy inside-stuff. She sounded, thought Mark longingly and Markly, she sounded most of all like a strawberry field with love vibes and tender children and ladybugs and a brigade of enlightened sex-elves singing songs of passion and playing strawberry instruments, goddamn that's a sensual voice.
Her voice sounded shaky and weak to me, but I'll let Mark fantasize.
Mark tried real hard to fuck her in his mind. Accidentally perhaps, he fucked infinity and knocked her up. More on that later. Forever later, I might add.
Her voice was all wobbly and zonked up shaking zebra-baby zone...FOOK YEA!!!
Mark thought her voice was like, oh like, like like like a glimpse of magic!!!
But it was more like a voice.
Finding your voice is just what Mark does. Until I enter the picture and fuck with his perceptions. I voice how I ear 'n hear her voice, Mark man. Marks ears so queers to mine mind. I gotta love my man. He was twenty-six. He was averagely attractiveness. His thoughts are what I'm reducing to words. His words I glide them. Slide them into thoughts. His words / my slide / your thought. We can do it. God gave to the slave. I give. You want?
Mark wants give to a girl! Wants give to the world! The world gave him a girl. The world gave him a world. Mark and the world got this system worked out. They got a duo. But the world cheats on Mark with everything else. The world fucks everyone.
Mark made a fool of himself, said Mark's mental mantel mind. I am the world when I'm in love!
Mark drinks water more often than he has sex. Is that fucking lame?
Mark still liked the girl? Marriage? Maybe. What the fuck am I doing?- Mark thought in his arm. Gosh, I'm a hopeless romantic, Mark romanticized in his tummy-mind. I wanna talk to this girl some more, I wanna fuck her intelligently and transcend something vague again. Mark had a way of not thinking straight. But it was the world's way, the world being the sperm that won. And all the sperm that won. They lost, but they won. They one but they one. They cum on the sofa and regret the poorly-spent evening, the cocaine, the lack of judgement. I wanting I wanna my mommy! Jesus could be your mommy.
Mark was losing his shit.
Mark all covered in love.
The girl was like, a moon-girl visionary animal-energy lovechild
But she was kind of an ugly worthless cunt
Just like all to a gurgling mind.
But not at all like those minds that gurgled not did see...
But all minds gurgle (Mark was unaware of any gurgling)
But the gurgling comes in different levels in different minds.
Still
grrrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuggglllllllllle. CUNT CUNT CUNT blurts out the gurgly thought from untuned spaces. Still valid, buddy. If you say it's not then your mind is gurgling hard like Mark's. You can control the gurgle but you may never destroy it. Destroy it: this you may never hope for. But you may conquer it. Show the gurgle its place. Make it your bitch. But you are always its bitch, either way.
Mark's hard-on.
Mark's game on.
Mark's gone gone.
Mark is long long
gone.
It's about you and me, I made it you ate it.
Enjoy.
Here goes.
Mark ate breakfast; it was so good. Mark forgot to call his sister last night. She was probably upset. He cringed. And then he finished eating the cereal. Good cereal. How do they make Mark's cereal that good?
Mark had been eating cereal a lot, and often it was for breakfast. Love starts right in on the tongue. The bowl to the hole! Good to eat...
but
beautiful ladies love well
Mark, Mark...Mark!
Before going out for a sunday walk, he just (now let me tell you) ...
!
okay...it's time...boing...
he just fell over limp on the loveseat and cried hard with basically no warning. BOinG-uh! It just happened, might gotta might needings ta, to pull it together my man my Mark. He pulled it together.
Then on the walk he took after the cry just as planned in the neighborhood that was good he thought about the weather and sex and sidewalk maintenance and the meaning of life and there was the aftertaste of cereal lingering. MMMMMM good. Tasty. And tears he had swallowed. He knew he was gonna cry again probably in a couple of hours probably in a bookstore or something. It's cool, though, I'm not ashamed of being in touch with my feelings, Mark told a lot of girls and some guys and once a pretty smart cat. And he said it to his own reflections. And to God.
Fuck myself, Mark mumbled in a half-ass Mark-mumble.
One time he rented a tuxedo for like, literally no reason. Except for his urge to lotion his emotion. To lotion world's emotion. And to lotion the emotion of that special girl. He ate nachos and the white sauce he was dipping in, well let's just say it got on the tuxedo. Mark said shit and cleaned it, kind of. None of the girls liked it; he didn't get laid or have a meaningful relationship from the tuxedo he rented. Fuck that tuxedo. He passed out on his loveseat in that tuxedo. It was comfy? Not at all.
Mark was thinking about the not-at-all-worth-it tuxedo on his sunday walk. Maybe other fashions were nowadays considered more attractive? He thought about reading more magazines. Getting in touch was such an important thing. The now is where it's at. Mark checked out a girl on a bike. The joy was undermined by its visions of the future. Bummer, but the girl had a bit of a cute butt, and she had glasses so she probably read books and Mark liked that in a girl.
A lot of people ride bikes.
Some people are learning to ride bikes.
Some are demonstrating how to ride bikes.
Some on bikes doing tricks to impress.
Some on bikes going to work or play.
Some on bikes for leisure.
Some on bikes by profession.
Some on bikes racing.
Some on bikes keeping up.
Some on bikes getting ahead.
Some on bikes that are stationary.
Some on bikes for exercise.
Some on bikes drunk and stoned.
All sorts of asses sit on bikes.
People do other things though. Bikes could be eliminated from the reality-thang, and see if I would care.
I guess I would.
Mark started crying on his walk, and the bald tough-guy in a wifebeater with a spaghetti stain who was mowing his lawn looked at Mark and thought, like what the fuck is this guy embarrassing himself for? What a faggy poindexter...men should not cry. Satisfied he was right, the guy mowed his lawn and Mark left his mind and he asked his wife for a pink lemonade, bitch. However, her death had not yet set in, and yeah, the world was collapsing for him. He ate a pretzel that had promised pleasure with its beauty. Temptation from pretzel (unfaithful to dead wife). Food and sex make the world go round. Food and sex make money go around. Food and sex make diseases go round. You cook a chicken you slap on a condom. Safety first. Unless the world wants kaboom!
Mark was still walking, crying harder than his dick at its hardest moment. He was like, going through like real tough world-stuff. A baby in a stroller marveled at Mark's crying odd face. The mother pushing the baby didn't give a shit about anyone crying. Good mom, good mom. Eventually Mark started trying to hitchhike, and he didn't know why. He was thinking like a sea cucumber; dumb.
It took awhile, but a really attractive girl pulled over. HOLY SHIT! Is this the new way?
Mark wanted a new girl so bad and reality had just presented the prospect of sex-perfection in such a nice package. He hopped on in and eyed the cute girl, still crying but no longer sad.
What happened next?
Tell me.
Go on.
Mark my words.
Mark thy words.
Word is a word.
But
The word, is word.
World is word is world.
After they had been talking in the car for a while, Mark like literally knew he was, like, totally in love with this girl. She was understanding, sensitive, well-educated, spiritually aware, and totally turned on by the tears, man. Totally. Mark wanted to ravage her body and fuck the universe. And just talk about God under the stars and cry together. Or just have sex. Or just talk. Or just talk. Whatever. Her voice was like Moses as a girl; real holy, ocean-parting authority. Also, she sounded like a teddy bear with a heart of fuzzy inside-stuff. She sounded, thought Mark longingly and Markly, she sounded most of all like a strawberry field with love vibes and tender children and ladybugs and a brigade of enlightened sex-elves singing songs of passion and playing strawberry instruments, goddamn that's a sensual voice.
Her voice sounded shaky and weak to me, but I'll let Mark fantasize.
Mark tried real hard to fuck her in his mind. Accidentally perhaps, he fucked infinity and knocked her up. More on that later. Forever later, I might add.
Her voice was all wobbly and zonked up shaking zebra-baby zone...FOOK YEA!!!
Mark thought her voice was like, oh like, like like like a glimpse of magic!!!
But it was more like a voice.
Finding your voice is just what Mark does. Until I enter the picture and fuck with his perceptions. I voice how I ear 'n hear her voice, Mark man. Marks ears so queers to mine mind. I gotta love my man. He was twenty-six. He was averagely attractiveness. His thoughts are what I'm reducing to words. His words I glide them. Slide them into thoughts. His words / my slide / your thought. We can do it. God gave to the slave. I give. You want?
Mark wants give to a girl! Wants give to the world! The world gave him a girl. The world gave him a world. Mark and the world got this system worked out. They got a duo. But the world cheats on Mark with everything else. The world fucks everyone.
Mark made a fool of himself, said Mark's mental mantel mind. I am the world when I'm in love!
Mark drinks water more often than he has sex. Is that fucking lame?
Mark still liked the girl? Marriage? Maybe. What the fuck am I doing?- Mark thought in his arm. Gosh, I'm a hopeless romantic, Mark romanticized in his tummy-mind. I wanna talk to this girl some more, I wanna fuck her intelligently and transcend something vague again. Mark had a way of not thinking straight. But it was the world's way, the world being the sperm that won. And all the sperm that won. They lost, but they won. They one but they one. They cum on the sofa and regret the poorly-spent evening, the cocaine, the lack of judgement. I wanting I wanna my mommy! Jesus could be your mommy.
Mark was losing his shit.
Mark all covered in love.
The girl was like, a moon-girl visionary animal-energy lovechild
But she was kind of an ugly worthless cunt
Just like all to a gurgling mind.
But not at all like those minds that gurgled not did see...
But all minds gurgle (Mark was unaware of any gurgling)
But the gurgling comes in different levels in different minds.
Still
grrrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuggglllllllllle. CUNT CUNT CUNT blurts out the gurgly thought from untuned spaces. Still valid, buddy. If you say it's not then your mind is gurgling hard like Mark's. You can control the gurgle but you may never destroy it. Destroy it: this you may never hope for. But you may conquer it. Show the gurgle its place. Make it your bitch. But you are always its bitch, either way.
Mark's hard-on.
Mark's game on.
Mark's gone gone.
Mark is long long
gone.
Last edited:
