ehh, not really. It's more of "sexual". But we talk about that a lot here.


Waking up inside a cage brings back memories of colorful canaries and great big Siberian Huskies. The reflection of my bright skin on the cold bars glow like summer heat. I wrap five fingers over a bar until it pulses with my veiny blood. I will leave it for the night and it will return back to it's cold, inanimate state. Blue again, Blue flows in through the window, until multiple clouds displace the scene. The waves wash away the shit from the shore. I can see it pulse through the window, and I pulse in return, and we return to what we once were, mere pulses of heat in empty space. The globe spins around in circles. I pick out a map of Asia, then zoom in on winter Russia and North Korea. I go to familiar places, revisiting pictures through memory, and I play a long game of match-up with the real thing. Sometimes it takes several months, across several sunsets, until the perfect scene matches up with a half-remembered color still.

When i'm tired I can walk in through the double doors of Wal-mart and sleep in the female clothing section, beneath brassieres and thin-sleeved hoodies piled high and crumpled in a pile in a cart. They are soft to the touch, and slightly grainy. I glide over the motionless escalator and pass it's vertical ridges with a trail of clothing dangling behind me, catching on to the sharp edges and tearing into a thousand tiny trips of thread, fiber, cotton, and polyester. The fishnets rip the easiest, forming dangled messes of dilapidated jellyfishes. They will look good the next morning, when the perplexed staff encounter them ransacked. They will never find out who did it. I am the perfect criminal. I do not leave fingerprints. Next thing I know, I am in a bathroom with tiled walls and a peach-colored porcelain toilet in the corner, while the door unlocks and swings open from my view across the mirror, and a woman walks in and undresses, first her shirt, and then pulling her jeans across her legs. They are tight, and take quite some time to take off. Then she takes a camera and snaps three pictures. She unhooks her bra and takes more pictures, with one hand cleverly covering her nipples and squeezing together her breasts. She doesn't take off her panties. I see her put on her shirt, half-crumpled and dripping wet at a corner, and re-wear her jeans. She didn't wear the bra. I followed her to her room, and walked through her. I see the inside of her uterus through a milimeter of demin and cotton. I explore the inside, I stay out of her intestines and stomach, and touch the inside lining with my tongue. The girl walks to the bedroom door, locks it, unfastens the button on her jeans, and slides down her panties. The jeans end up on her feet. The panties slid halfway down her thighs and nestled in the crook of her kness. The clothes pass through me like a hot shower. She begins to touch the naked space which the clothes have exposed. She inserts a finger in her vagina. I assist her. She rests the other hand on her right breast, then begins to rub the area around her nipple. I do the left breast, and cuddle her neck. We stay like this for a good 40 seconds or so, slowly first and then quickly rising to a climax, and she shakes uncontrollably (trying to suppress it all the while) and her jeans slide off her feet and fall on the floor down from the foot of her bed and her slim legs dangle in the air like a pair of scissors as if to say "No! No! Stop! Yes! Yes" until they finally fold down across the knees while her thighs remain pointed towards the ceiling. Her feet have returned to the soft of the bed. She bends over and reaches for her jeans. Unknowingly so, she rests her hand on my crotch using it as a brace, while she arches her long back and fishes her jeans. She puts it on. She slips back her shirt on from where it came. This time, she doesn't wear a bra nor a panty. All this time she thought she was masturbating. I remain inside and across her while she lays sideways down on the bed. In the morning I will wake to a blue sky and float up into the atmosphere again, slowly dissipating into nothing.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
Wow. I think my favorite line was "I assist her." Ha really great imagery and feel though. Will have to read again but great work.
Outside the side box that's outside your sky box.
I'll do this properly as soon as I have two hands free>.>

But, ah, seriously, I enjoyed it for what it was, a few typos, but I'm completely and utterly lost as to what its about. A bad drug trip/soft porno?
Fantastic imagery, but it felt unfocused and incohesive, although that might not be a problem, depending on what you're going for. I would also like to know what it was about, as my best guess is also drug trip.
I did not get my Spaghetti-O's, I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this.
Executed by injection, Oklahoma.
~~ Thomas J. Grasso, d. March 20, 1995.


Fires Burning
Quote by kdownes
I'll do this properly as soon as I have two hands free>.>

I don't think it's important much what it means, it's more of the feeling that it gives. But if you're interested, the character is existing in a different plane of existence (or possibly his own imagination) and hence the people around him are unaware that he is there but he can feel everything (I suppose that's kind of a fantasy element to it).

thanks for reading guys.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian