his sweat had vanished into the heat
of dental
dental decay. he was at that hospital--
his mother shouting at him for "Not brushing your teeth,"
and being a filthy ****er.

the gramaticl doctor-dentist took relieves between every
swipe (like he needed it, but it was to finish his job, oh well).
So he stood in that blazing summer heat, waiting for his tooth to come
pop up and end the ordeal for all.

his noisy drone filled the air like static coming from a tv screen,
it was a voice, oh it was a voice. Oh well, I tried to put it out of my head.

he had patients with similar names, "Carolines, Colbys, Cynthias, Parkers,
Babys, Bushwalkers..." and voices he remembered like the light
appearing in the middle of music-filled car drives (coming from the headlights).
and it was there that he found his home, not in the hospital, not over the bed,
not in that gown, nor his stethoscope.

He was there, with the drill in hand.
"And you are...?"

a patient in the room (impatient cut-me-up type), and a little little
nice small little boy cutting paper waited side-by-side, like those
subway mismatched phenomenona.

There were fossils on the sofa. Displayed, probably, I thought.
Possibly located for a grim morbid effect.
Possibly placed there by the doctor-
the boy fingered his teeth. He was nervous.
I gave him a lollipop. his mother swiped it away.
"Sorry," I said.

The floor, er door, opened wide and out came the doctor-dentist
chewing on a plastic something that was cut and clean--
like the boy's hair, so neatly trimmed.
He grinned at the boy,
"Come in."

the boy followed like a hound.
I could feel the mother,
mother "Come back! Where are you going?"
but she just looked at her phone
finger-****ing the buttons through her thousand-dozen contacts.
I hope one of them was the doctor?
or at least her accountant, or something like that.

I remembered the time Mrs. Lesby's miniature schnauzer
was taken away by the garden lawnmower,
and so did came, images (and memories) of all the people I had seen
killed within my lifetime, like army medicine, and there.
and there it clouded for a groping effect.
The doctor's hand.
The doctor's hand!

Th-that lawnmower, the dog
the dog was simply chewing grass like any normal dog,
and the morning came, no the mower chewed him up
like any normal cutting tool, blender, mixed fruit
phenomena, only this...unpleasantness.
"Unpleasantness..." doctor-
dentist would say after each swipe,
like he was blind--or deaf, which one was it?

The sound of Indian local music played through the loudspeakers,
it was time for the cut-me-up patient to come,
and the doctor did,
cut him, right up to the bone,
but that was okay, that was okay,
he stitched him right up.

and God watched the ordeal.
"Look, how those fossils procreate."

"He's a nice God", my mother would say.
"He wants you to
to brush
your teeth."

I watched tv that afternoon, drowning in the surround sound,
with my mother to rescue me if I couldn't breathe--
which was fallacy. I could never die, because I was only fifteen.
If she cared, then she should go get ****ed.
Watch National Geographic.
Watch "Sex and the City".
Watch whales procreate.

I have created the fire inside,
inside my insidious body which,
for some reason, won't stop...burning?
said the doctor (dentist), "It's a fever-something."
Well, so much for being articulate.
It is ****ing something.
Yes it is. I feel it.

Inside my tremendous body--is it?
with millions of cells that someone created.
the theme is clear, is it not?
Is it?

Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
I find these all the time in the S&L forum...

...is this serious?

It's a ****ing story!

I'd like to comment on people's songs, but half the time they're things like this.
And it's just ridiculous.

I'd like my time back, Laces Out Danny.
This was very interesting to read, very engaging. My attention was being groped at constantly. I don't know where the guy above got the idea from that this is just some sought of story enunciated in an overly fashionable way. I noticed a lot of clever irony and sarcastic witt in here, more than enough to keep me thoroughly interested throughout. The theme was fairly conventional in the sense concerning UG's most popular large pieces, commonly about various different interesting topics, God and creation, fear of the unknown, childish curiosity, etc. It was still very intriguing and there was plenty of oportunites for advancement in the theme regard; it can derive many alternate meanings to this, whatever I like.
There are a few things that I disliked, which is a big downer. I find with a piece like this, everything needs to be perfect. Which may seem odd, but the smaller pieces, I feel, have more of a right to be incorrect or rough-around-the-edges - it gives them more credence and accessibility. A piece like this relies on perfection and artistic brilliance, which this certainly has, but not all the time. A little powdering here and a little eye-liner there, and this will be a lot better. Your thoughts won't be interupted with one-liners that you have no feelings for. I can go into those particular instances one at a time if you wish?

Very good writing in all.

Digitally Clean
thanks for the crit, Angry Goldfish. I agree with on saying there lot of unecessary sentences strewn about, as I wrote most of it in one sitting. I'll see what I can do to make this better.

I'm glad you liked it, though
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian