This one began. This one began, and this other began, and then they entered one another’s proximity, and, like animals, appreciated the curious shape their species had taken. Two forms sat beside eachother. She looked nice; small faced with a warm smile, clearly eastern European by his account, for he had a predilection for these types. She admired him, in his stylish, lithe body--a fairly good form on which to hang the latest fashions. Rough and little, tiny fart-sacs on golden wheat that lay still, barely touched by the light of the moon. No two people had met in circumstances like this before. He felt it quicker than she, but it came eventually. Just let it flow, let it come naturally, your mind can process something other than your own thoughts. A story, something insightful, something revelatory. It lies in your life, a life that resonates with a few readers, I do hope. Hope and hope, say it, smoke it, do it all, let the words come and call. Do you hear them?
No I don’t hear them, they died in your mind, spent like a flaccid penis after sex. With alacrity you try, you search for a story that is your own, we all do, but yours is one unworthy to digest—even though it does come out like shit. Can you understand, am I transcribing my mind or just trying to? Indolent boy, you came to late, you never practiced and this is the best result you can muster. Like a weak fart from a dying old man trying to shit himself: teetering, tottering, almost there, and then comes a puff of pathetic air.