fresh and fun

crushed man can only stop writing and when he stares at the sky it blinks back now with the knowledge that a part of his brain is dead, forever.

"I want to play born slippy and dig my hands into the dirt. fertile dirt. not the barren desert sands that I buried the keyboard into."


"well, you have to stop writing first" a giant beautiful Oak tree tells him.

"thats not a problem" the man states. "I can only currently write curse words, crude phrases, and mind-death memes".

he sighed and let his papers and files blow away in the wind, scattering, burnt with disintegration.



"well I better get going to work!" the man said and he drove his car into a wall and his brain exploded over the brickwork. a few more times of this and soon it would be lunchtime.

"if I could draw a single dark line from the very roof of my body down to the bottomest part of my toe, perfect straightness, and a distinctive thickness, well, then, my life would be fulfilled." he thought as he filled the cracks of his body and turned them into groutlines.

"I like your grouts.." she whispered, and she ran her fingers over them. "thank you" "kiss me" "hold me" "be me" "see me" "crush me"

with his large net the man pulled smoke from the sky and put it into his lungs. inhaling and burying it in him. when he dies they can excavate the smoke and reuse it. endlessly recycled. he always tries to imprint something onto the smoke but it will always be blank and without personality, totally unimpressionable.

"trace my fingers onto your back" "your bones feel beautiful" "recount melancholy dreams that make me want to read wikipedia"

he tried to last be seen in a swimming pool, cool splash, water onto hot concrete, the laughs dividing across time, the best way to exit - he thought.