|
|
one morning when i was avoiding college, i ate a hit of acid and walked down to the circle K. barefoot and wearing only shorts. man, college was great. i bought a forty of something and ended up on the sunburnt back lawn in a folding chair, picking glass out of the calluses on my feet. oh, and reading burroughs. i bring this up because i recall chucking the book as hard as i could. not because it sucked, necessarily. honestly, i don't recall why i chucked it. it was the right thing to do at the time. no, not edgar. i'm frying, not reading in my treehouse with my friend the chimpanzee. i think it was 'exterminator'. i'm sure it was. i remember now, i chucked it so the dog would fetch it. we played fetch until the book was destroyed and then played our usual game. primal death match. that surely left me bruised, forearms bleeding and covered in dog spit. i don't remember, though. i don't remember that trip until that afternoon. the shadows in the trees had deepended and i was sitting in my bedroom, coming down with a bag of weed and a bottle of red wine. and a pellet rifle. in my battered lazyboy by the window, tobacco pipe in my teeth, shooting cans in the back yard. fancied myself some sort of pussy hunter s. thompson, i did. thompson. read some of him, you might find another author you like. |
|
now i'm going to go shoot me some nazi's. socialists. fucking pussies. |
|